Motley-eyes
by Hamlet.the.girl
Summary: Elena Castel was a muggle-born student of Hogwarts and her biggest fear soon came true when she was sorted into Slytherin. But that was only the start of it. How could she survive amongst the cruel pureblood kids? Why would her Potions' Master take such interest in her ancestry? And how many secrets does he keep? crossposted on ao3
1. Prologue

_**Note from th****e**_**_ author:_** _I present to you: a semi-canon-following fic, with a doll-like looking anaemic muggleborn girl from Slytherin fighting her way to graduation, her first crush in the new school (Hermione) being the bad b*tch she always was, her housemate Draco having a never-ending identity crisis and her Potion's Master secretly being a nice person. In the background I'm serving Harry being a lost naive little hero, flamboyant Lucius Malfoy being flamboyant and some complicated relationships (either developing or pre-existing), romantic and platonic alike. I do plan on juggling with chronology a tad. Also - other chapters are significantly longer than the prologue._

_January 1997_

Looking at the normally very pale face of the student suddenly taking the colour of ripe raspberries, one could easily tell that her upcoming tirade would be heartfelt. He, however, was completely indifferent to the girl's features apart from her eyes – one emerald green, one onyx black, in which his own were fastened. And those were indeed gleaming with fire and concern.

\- How can you live a life like that, professor, constantly hiding from dangers that you're not even willing to acknowledge by simply shielding yourself from all people?! You're lying to yourself and basically everyone else by pulling this masquerade and it's not even beneficial, although I know you believe otherwise. It'll somehow backfire badly, I can feel it! So whatever's going on, you should tell someone. Geez, even me if you don't have a better candidate for that!  
The teen kept rising her voice at him while the man stood still amongst the field with his gaze piercing her, yet seemingly completely unmoved by her outburst.  
\- I mean... you've saved me once professor, so the least I can do to repay you for that is helping you out now! – she added, as always irritated by the uncommunicativeness of the Potions' Master, as she never stopped calling him in her mind.

\- Miss Castel – he started slowly with the usual sternness in his voice – Firstly, this is no way to address your teacher and if you ever decide to do that again, I might be forced to take away 10 points from the house, which I obviously would rather not do. Besides I believe my personal affairs that you're so keen on meddling with are no business of yours or any other student, for that matter. And while you might have been wrongfully convinced by the behaviour of some other students and teachers alike that such acts are by affiliation appropriate towards everyone at the school of Hogwarts, I am afraid I need to inform you that you are mistaken – he said, turning away on his heel and starting to walk away quickly.  
The girl caught up to him easily and kept up with his pace, for a while quietly trying to collect her thoughts. Their robes, both equally dark and flowy danced in the morning wind. The sun was starting to rise over the hills surrounding the castle bathed in glittering snow as they marched towards the Forbidden Forest, still partly hidden in the shadows.

\- Professor Snape? – the girl said, quite sheepishly this time.

\- Yes?

\- I know you'll probably take some points from me for that, but I still think you should tell someone. Maybe headmaster Dumbledore? That oath I heard you mentioning to Draco yesterday, I've researched it – she said, slightly prideful about it - and it sounds dangerous, whatever the deed he has been ordered to do actually is. Although given how grave the consequences are, I doubt it was used on you for something trivial, which gives one the more reason to worry, actually. And along with what I had found out accidentally during our mind-reading training, provided that I am connecting the dots right, you are tied up with something really dangerous, possibly involving Him Who Must Not Be Named. Am I right, professor?

The man listened to her outwardly emotionless, but with growing concern at the very centre of his being. "What devil prompted that child to try to involve herself in my struggles?" he wondered, knowing that nothing good for her could result from this.  
Having patiently waited for her to finish her thought and only after he had ensured she does not have anything more to add, he took his turn to talk:  
\- You are right about one thing, Elena – she shuddered, hearing her first name unexpectedly – I have warned you that the punishment for your unyielding stupidity, oh I am sorry – he said sarcastically and continued after a pause - bravery and curiosity, as your Gryffindor friends would call it, is 10 points, therefore that is just what the Slytherin house has just lost thanks to you. You can, however, earn them back if you remain silent for the rest of our gathering quest on this blissful morning. And thank you for elaborating on what you know – he paused again, almost unnoticeably reaching for his wand – Obliviate!

\- Expelliarmus! – the young witch capably countered his attack.

Something in his voice must have betrayed him, since they were both looking at the ground in pursuit of the ingredients he needed for his storehouse sticking out from underneath the duvet of snow, so the girl had no way of noticing the movement of his hand.

\- Most impressive, , most impressive indeed. Let's pretend you have not just attacked your teacher and I trust that in return you will behave as if the charm has worked – Snape said, snatching his wand from Elena's hand – And now, what I have said earlier.

\- But I really don't understand...- apart from spirited, she was also undoubtedly a pretty stubborn person, "or admirably persistent as some would call it" Severus thought to himself and snickered quietly.

\- What I said earlier. Silence. Don't make me use another spell on you, Elena, because this time I guarantee you I will succeed. And with your inclination for chattering Silencio would almost equal Crucio, wouldn't it?  
Convinced by his tone and therefore now slightly afraid to utter another word, the girl simply smiled and nodded, focusing again on the task at hand.  
Neither of them said a thing in the following thirty minutes as they forced their way through the shrubbery of the Forest, leaning to collect the necessary plants and insects hidden in the mouldering trunks of dead trees every now and then.

When they got back, the school had already woken up and the corridors were buzzing with noise, that would only lessen a tad when the professor was passing through them with his young companion carrying all their harvest in an enchanted basket until they arrived at the staircase to the cellar.

\- I'll take it from here. You can go have breakfast now. And thank you, Miss Castel – the professor either actually put more emphasis on the phrase "thank you" than he routinely would or she simply was imagining what she'd want to hear. - And be sure to come by to my office before dinner to talk about that... initiative of yours you had mentioned yesterday – he added with deliberately ill-concealed mockery, taking the basket from her hand.

\- I certainly will. Goodbye professor! – she smiled at him, unfazed by his tone and left, hurrying towards her friends, whom she had just spotted somewhere in the corridor.


	2. Beginner's lack of luck

_6.5 years earlier_

Elena woke up to her alarm-clock clanging violently against the metal parts of her nightstand, as it must have fallen over to the floor during the night.  
\- Honey! Are you up yet? - she heard her mum's voice – Auntie Ane and Ada will be here any minute now, please hurry up!  
\- I'll be ready soon! – she shouted back through the partly ajar door, slowly dragging herself up from the bed.  
She opened her wardrobe and took out the outfit she had prepared the night before, then hastily left her small bedroom. Upon hearing her footsteps a white, noisy ball of fur ran to her.  
\- Good morning, Ruffles! How are you doing? - she asked her dog, leaning down to pet him - Good boy, good boy, Ruffie! Now let me through, please - she said, gently pushing him away to get to the bathroom.

Only after locking the door, did the thought hit her – "I'm going to Hogwarts in two days! I really am!". She looked at herself in the mirror with disbelief. This was the face of a future witch! She brushed her curly hair carefully, as always noticing a few new silver strands hidden between the brown flocks. Then she brushed her teeth and put on the black shirt and jeans, and finally used a little bit of her mom's pink lip-gloss. She was just leaving, when she the doorbell ring, followed by her mother's voice.  
\- The door is open! I'm stuck in the kitchen for now, I'm sorry! Elena! They're already here, come help them out! - Carwen kept shouting from the kitchen, unable to leave the pan unattended for even a second.

Aunt Aneira had indeed just arrived, as Elena noticed her taking of her blue trench coat and the fancy purple hat with feathers that she was almost always wearing, which revealed her knee high dress and auburn curls with characteristic white strands. Alongside her a tall short-haired blonde with similar yet less visible silver highlights, Adalie, Elena's cousin, was struggling to keep Ruffles away from her cat Fiona, whom she was carrying.  
\- Oh, Elena! Good morning, my dear, come here, let's greet properly! - Aneira exclaimed, when she saw her, leaving the girl no option but to let her hug her and leave purple lipstick marks on both her cheeks - Ada, give me that little monster, so you can say hi to your cousin - she said, stretching her arms to take the animal from her daughter.  
Adalie obediently handed her the bald creature of a Sphynx cat she was holding and hugged Elena.  
\- Hello, 1st year! How are you feeling, huh? - she asked while playfully nudging her.  
\- I'm doing fine, actually. A little scared, that's it.  
\- Scared? - Aneira chimed in - And what is there to be scared of? Hogwarts is one of the most magical places in the world, both literally and metaphorically, you'll see for yourself. There's nothing to be scared of, my dear. And besides - we'll get you prepared for just about everything you might face! - she promised, while giving Fiona back to her  
proper owner and heading to the kitchen with both of the girls.

\- Carwy, baby sister, it's been a while! - the witch stormed inside the kitchen, barging the not fully open wooden door so hard it hit the wall, thus scaring the dog, who was still following the cat's smell, and causing Elena's father to spill coffee on his newspaper.  
\- Ane! How many times do I have to tell you to be more careful? Do you want to pay for the overhaul? The plaster is not indestructible, you know! - Carwen scolded her sister turning away from the stove to greet her.  
\- Come on, sit down, the pancakes are almost ready. You girls as well, just wash your hands first - she ordered, looking at Fiona with a bit of hostility.  
\- Yeah, and let down that cat, she'll manage on her own, I'm sure - Aneira added, catching her sister's gaze.  
As the children went to the bathroom, the extravagant woman sat down by the table, choosing her seat in front of her brother-in-law, who had kept eyeing her from across the room ever since she entered and disrupted his reading.  
\- Morning, Franco! It's good to see you!  
\- Good morning, Aneira, it's good to see you too - he replied, finally able to focus his attention back on the news.

Just after the kids came back into the room the meal was ready and Elena's mom manoeuvred between the dog and cat chasing each other all over the room putting the plate of pancakes and a teapot on the table.  
\- Bon appétit! - she said, taking a seat herself - Oh, Elena, could you fetch us the maple syrup?  
Her daughter put the bottle on the table, Franco put his captivating lecture away for now and everyone started eating.  
\- So, how's Apsel? - he asked Aneira.  
\- He's doing amazing, I think, touring around Europe with the Banging Veelas currently. The Ministry are watching them all the time though, they have no respect for creator's imagination.

\- He's not using his imagination, mum! The lyrics are almost always just real accounts of magical events and you know that. Lazy writing, I'd call it!  
\- Oh, be quiet, will you? Both me and your dad simply came up with a way of monetising our experiences, there's nothing bad about it. And besides, if we keep the mixing of blood as it is, and I personally believe it'll be getting even more common as the years pass, then the wizards are just bound to be recognised by muggles as a minority one day.

\- I love it when you act, like we're not muggles ourselves, mommy - Ada cut in sarcastically.  
Elena's father, very much displeased with the exchange he prompted was looking at one Hughes-Eisenberg, then another, afraid something bad could happen and visibly uneasy at the sight of an angry witch, even if it was a 15 years old one. Aneira, on the other hand, kept listening keenly, trying to collect some information about the wizarding world, so that she would be able to help her precious daughter out, when its problems start affecting her as well.

\- I am not! I acknowledge that we are not of pure blood and as such I have the more reason to support further integration of both of the worlds I live in.

\- "We are not of pure blood" - the teen repeated mockingly - You better watch out - she turned to Elena - for bullshit like that when you're at school. "Purebloods, mudbloods, Veelabloods". Hell, if I wanted to hear so much about blood, I'd have actually gone to study medicine!

\- Language! - Aneira raised her voice menacingly this time.

\- Okay, okay, mom, I'm sorry. But don't you agree it's absolutely bonkers to judge people on their blood, not their skill?  
\- How could I say no to that, honey? We'd talked about it, one has to shun the bullies and choose a smarter crowd, that's the only solution, that's how I survived through those years myself.  
\- What are "mudbloods" and "Veelabloods"? - Elena asked with curiosity.

\- Well, that's a conversation for another time, I'd say - Aneira answered, as if only now realising that two muggles were present throughout the whole conversation. Closest family of three witches, surely, but they were still colleagues and friends of people who thought that her paintings of centaurs were just a fantasy.

\- No, it's not. Mudblood is a child of muggles, so like normal people, non-magical folk, and a pureblood is a child of wizards. And a Veela is a type of creature... - Adalie kept explaining, while her mother got up from her seat and went right behind hers, so that she could pull her by her ear while reprimanding her.

\- You stop it, young lady! We'll explain everything to her on the way. And besides we should be going, it's half past eleven already. So the two of you - finish breakfast and I'll talk to Carwen and Franco, but in another room if possible - Aneira decided.

When the adults left the room, the girls went back to discussing magical affairs. Ada even revealed to her cousin that her dad was actually a half-Veela and what exactly those mysterious creatures were, despite her mother's earlier protests. She also revealed what she knew about the headmaster, teachers and the houses of Hogwarts, strongly encouraging her to join Ravenclaw to continue the family tradition and most importantly - be her housemate.

Meanwhile, in the small office upstairs, which guaranteed at least a bit of privacy, Aneira explained a few things about the school to her sister and brother-in-law and proceeded to arrange with them how much muggle money could they exchange to buy Elena's textbooks and other necessary objects. When they were finished, she went straight to the corridor and called the kids. Elena kissed her parents, who were just coming down the staircase, quickly put her black raincoat on, cause as she'd realised earlier, typical London weather had already kicked in, even though the morning was rather sunny and promised better conditions that the usual.

\- Black? Everything black? You look like you're still grieving - Ada, herself dressed in a burgundy skirt and a complementary black shirt with colourful flowers and birds embroided into it, asked her provocatively, while putting on her purple coat.

\- Don't worry about her, she clearly got off the wrong foot today - Elena's aunt tried to reduce the possible damage caused by her daughter - Goodbye, and thank you for the breakfast, Carwy. We'll be back by 6 o'clock - she said, pushing the girls towards the rainy street outside the already open door.

* * *

Elena trustingly let the older witches lead her to a suspicious small pub called the Leaky Cauldron and started asking questions only when they both stopped before a wall and took her hands.  
\- So, how does this work, exactly? It's a dead end, right?  
\- Hush - the auntie silenced her - I'll say an incantation and we'll land on the other side of the bricks, but I need to focus.

They arrived in the Alley at noon. The sun had once again resurfaced from amongst the clouds and now was shining birth, reflecting in the numerous puddles that had formed on the cobblestone street that outstretched before them. Aneira looked at the sky and then at her watch and smiled with contentment.  
\- There are some advantages to travelling in an enchanted car - she noticed referring to the elegant violet jaguar they left in front of the pub just minutes ago.  
\- Some... - Elena said with awe, captivated by the sight so much, that it rendered her speechless.  
\- So - Ada began explicating - this is the Diagon Alley, where we buy our school stuff - There's the Gringotts - she gestured to a grand building on the corner.

Her still speechless cousin was soaking up the view of the majestic wooden gate by which two tall marble columns stood. Elena raised her eyes to admire the multiple storeys of the white construction and read the golden board on top of it, on which ornate lettering announced the bank's name.  
\- Speaking of Gringotts, what would you say if I left you for a little while to go there to withdraw some cash for Elle, while the two of you could already start choosing her wand at Ollivander's?  
\- Auntie Ane, I told you not to call me that - the girl quickly regained her ability to speak.  
\- I'm sorry, dear, it slipped. So what say you?  
\- I'm getting my own wand, already? - Elena started with disbelief - I mean, sure, we can do that - she added quickly, prompted by the smirk her cousin gave her.  
\- Yeah, I'll help her out, you can go, mum! - Ada joined in and they parted their ways.

Aneira, while gifted with great organising skills when it came to plan things, was also a huge procrastinator most of the time and truly had no other option but to leave the girls alone, as they would only be a dead-weight while she was running errands. Could she have taken them here earlier, perhaps? Naturally. Would that ever be possible with her character? Definitely no. Ada was always the kid to be late everywhere in her childhood and even Madam Malkin knew that there would always be a letter awaiting her with Adalie's current measurements (this year together with Elle's, of course) arriving somewhere around the last week of August, not long before its sender would cross her doorstep hurriedly, coming to collect the product.

The Ollivander's shop was empty, when the two girls entered. It smelled of wood and dust.  
\- Mister Ollivander? - Adalie boldly called to the owner.  
\- I'm coming! - they heard him shout from the depths of his wand storehouse, followed by a loud rumble.  
Finally he emerged from beyond the stillages with a dust sweeper in his hand.  
\- Good morning, -Eisenberg! Is something wrong with the wand? - the old man froze for a second, gathering his thoughts - Ash wood and unicorn core if I remember correctly?  
\- Yes and no, it's performing just fine. It's my cousin we need to buy a wand for. Elena Castel - she introduced her, moving to the side.  
\- Oh, I see... - the shopkeeper acted as if he hadn't noticed her presence before - Then come forward, Ms. Castel, I'm sure we'll find you the perfect fit.

After looking her in the eyes without blinking for a little while, he went back between the shelves to choose a wand for her, leaving the girls alone.  
\- He's weird - Elena remarked quietly.  
\- Sure he is, completely nuts, but good at his job like none other - replied Adalie - Now shut it - she said, noticing the man was coming back.  
He laid a box on the counter. It was trembling due to the wand trying to get out it forcefully.  
Elena opened it and took the long piece of vine wood out.  
\- Come on, don't be shy, try it out - Garrick encouraged her.  
She waved it and the room went completely dark for a moment, all of the candles in the candelabrums on the wall suddenly put out.  
\- Well, that's not it - the old man acknowledged and went to search for another.

He returned quicker this time.  
\- And how about this one? - he wondered, putting it into the girl's hand.  
She waved, even more cautious now and nothing bad happened. In fact, as she noticed after already having put it back in its case, one of the nearly dead roses in the blue vase nearby had changed, now brightly red as if it was freshly cut.  
\- It's been decided then. - concluded, packing the wand and handing it to Elena.  
\- And what is it?  
\- Oh, you're a curious little soul, I see. And rightly so. It's important for a witch to know her wand and vice versa. Yours in made out of yew wood and has a unicorn-hair core. A rather peculiar combination, I admit. Will you be paying now or at a later date?  
\- My mum will pay, dunno when she'll get out of the Gringotts, but she should be here any minute.  
\- Alright then - before the man could retreat back to into the depths of the store, the door opened.  
\- Speaking of the devil... – Adalie joked.  
\- Hello, ! Hope they didn't get on your nerves too much? - Aneira greeted him, already fishing in her small yet spacious plum-coloured purse for her wallet.  
When she was done paying for the wand, all three of them said their goodbyes and exited from the shop to continue on their spree.

The second they were back on the street the adult witch began:  
\- Merlin's beard, it's already almost 1 o'clock! How have we wasted so much time is beyond me!  
\- And we're about to waste even more, momsy dear - the older of the girls was as always the first one to retort.  
\- Why would that be? - her mother inquired.  
\- Oh, don't you know? Because she refuses to get a proper companion, obviously! She told me at breakfast, when we were alone.  
\- Do you, now? Not everybody need to have one, you know - she gave her daughter a scolding look while trying to reassure Elena.

\- I do want one, but I can't wrap my head around why would I not be allowed to simply take my dog with me!  
\- It's only the specific animals listed, who have a knack for magic, I'm afraid.  
\- I've already told her, mum. And she simply won't listen - Adalie explained.  
\- Well, maybe if she gives them a chance she'll find one for her? - Aneira speculated, guiding the girls straight to the Magical Menagerie.

In the chaos and clamour that reigned inside they spend almost a whole hour, before Elena finally decided she wasn't buying anything. Right when they were about to leave, she noticed a limping raven under one of the countertops. The poor bird must have been attacked by one of the cats. He had lost some of his feathers and got bitten on his leg, but otherwise it seemed fine.  
\- I'll take this one! – she announced to her aunt.  
\- I'm not sure you'll be allowed a raven in your 1st year, honey...  
\- I said I'll take him.  
Caught off guard the witch had to agree and with a sigh of resignation she went to the checkout.  
\- I'll call you Superstes - Elena told the raven, earning a weird look from Adalie - It means survivor. See what those beasts did to him? - she asked her cousin, pointing at the cats wandering around the shop.  
Before Adalie could upstage yet another little squabble, her mom diffused the situation, letting the shopkeeper pack the bird inside a cage with the help of its new owner and nearly pushing the girls out of the Menagerie.

In the next 4 hours, with Aneira's help and thanks to her organizing skills they managed to collect all of their necessary workbooks, a cauldron for Elena and even had the time to pop into the Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour before they departed. When they arrived back at her house, Elena was very excited for the adventure that was awaiting her, starting on Sunday, as well as pleasantly exhausted from all the fascinating events of the day. She went to sleep early, taking the cage of her newly found friend with her to the bedroom, deaf to her parents' complaints on its loud calls.

* * *

On Saturday, Elena's parents took her and her friends from the chemistry club she attended at school, or muggle friends as she caught herself calling them in her mind now after being introduced to the concept of dividing people by their magical aptitude (or lack of thereof), to the London Aquarium as a parting gift. Despite coming back home rather late in the evening, she could not fall asleep, preoccupied by all that was awaiting her the following day.  
Superstes wasn't exactly making it easy for her either, as he kept making noise throughout the whole night and this time she seemed to be more sensitive to his screeching than the day before.

Tossing and turning until the sun was up she barely slept a wink. Therefore in the morning she begged her mom to let her drink some coffee and Carwen, surprisingly, agreed. Herself fretting over the fate of her oldest daughter, who was leaving the house to travel to that peculiar school and at such a young age, she possibly wouldn't even have noticed if Elena simply poured it into her cup without permission. Or poured it all over the table, for that matter. All she could concentrate on was how she knew so many people, who attended that academy, yet, perhaps with the exception of her sister's family, none of them happy. "Come to think of it, I actually don't know that many of its students" - she realized - "Lily and her husband, of course, and her death was so suspicious... car crash, they said, but Aneira wouldn't come to the funeral. That kid of hers, never found out what happened to him... And that boy, who followed Lily like a faithful dog, well, he was a man already last time I saw him. Wonder if he's still well out there somewhere?" - lost so deep within her mind she hardly noticed that her child and partner had meanwhile prepared to leave.

\- Honey? - Franco shook her arm lightly - Are you alright?  
\- Sure, worried, that's all...  
\- I'm a tad upset myself, I admit - he reassured her - but I'm sure our little girl will do just fine. Will you be finishing those? - he asked her, referring to the two untouched pieces of toast still lying on her plate.  
\- No, I don't have the appetite. I'll eat when we get back - she said, standing up - Let's just go.

Meanwhile Elena, suddenly pumped up by the caffeine and by the realisation that the best period of her life was about to begin, with her full-black outfit on, was saying her goodbyes to Ruffles, who, unable to sleep in the same room as the raven during the night, was following her every step now, and carrying Superstes' cage along with her backpack to the car.  
\- Mom, dad, hurry up! Or we're gonna be late! - she shouted coming back from the garage.  
\- We're coming, flower! - Franco replied, going into her room to take the two suitcases.

They finally left at ten o'clock, certainly gambling a little on being punctual, but luckily managed to avoid getting stuck in a traffic jam and arrived at King's Cross Station half an hour later. The weather was rather pleasant, unexpectedly summery even, without a single dark cloud blocking out the sun's generous warmth. When they got out of the car and went towards the Station while Franco was looking for a place to park, they immediately noticed the tall, dressed in blue figure of Aneira standing in front of the entrance.  
\- Good morning, Ane! - Carwen said.  
\- Good morning, auntie Ane! - Elena eagerly accompanied her.  
\- Hello, dears! We've been waiting for you! - she exclaimed in reply - And to be completely earnest, I'm not complaining. Caught a little sunshine in the meantime.  
\- Yes, we're sorry, we couldn't get ready.  
\- You couldn't, mom! I was ready around nine!  
\- Sure you were, honey. Where's Ada? - she turned back to her sister.  
\- Oh, already at the platform, I presume. She wanted to join her friends and I'm not going to try to stop her - Aneira laughed.

Then the designated chauffer joined them, having found the miracle of a parking spot on Sunday in London.  
\- Hello Franco! - his sister-in-law greeted him, as all four of them entered the building.

* * *

Severus Snape started regretting his decision about apparating straight from the station the very second he went inside the building. As the school year was starting for muggle and magical families alike, it was filled with happy families, children crying or laughing, parents chirping to their bairns like mother hens, clumsy boys and girls toppling over their numerous suitcases. Complete ruckus everywhere he looked. "At least it fits my state of mind" he snickered sadly to himself, as thoughts were rapidly crossing his mind, while he was fighting to avoid thinking about the purpose of his visit in London.

He hid behind a column to avoid attracting to much attention to himself and started whispering the temporary-invisibility-to-muggles spell, when he saw Molly Weasley with the whole flock of her ginger, dim-witted children and another boy amongst them, with glasses and much darker hair and skin, caught his attention. He suspected who that could be and his hunch proved right when the kid raised his head and looked in his direction, probably prompted by his persistent stare, revealing he was an exact carbon copy of none other but James Potter himself. He instantly regretted provoking this incident, unsure whether the kid was actually able to see him.

The colourful silhouette of Aneira Hughes-whatever was the next thing that sparked his interest for a second or two, especially since he saw her earlier on the non-magical platform, standing beside a muggle woman whose eyes he recognised easily. The artist caught his gaze and bowed slightly in response, so he did the same.

"How comes I never saw her at the funeral, when I am sure I remember her sister from it?". The reminder of the emerald eyes of that woman triggered further unpleasant memories, those of the windy graveyard and both ceremonies of burial he witnessed and of the witch they were commemorating. "Why did I ever think it was a good idea to come to London to order the wreath?" Surely, it was the tenth anniversary this year and not many people apart from him would care. Well, maybe exactly those cousins of hers, maybe them, though will they even come in October? He very much doubted that. But was it even worth all the commotion, when for all he knew and expected Dumbledore wasn't likely to give him permission to visit the grave on the 31st? "Then at least she'll get the wreath delivered. So maybe it was indeed worth it, after all." he concluded, suddenly overwhelmed by grief.

Irritated by the emotions he dreaded so much, the man decided to get to Hogsmeade already and pulled his wand out again with that intention, when he was stopped by a familiar voice coming from behind.

\- Severus, what are you doing here? – Lucius Malfoy was standing right at his heels, with one hand on his son's shoulder and holding his ornate cane with the other – This is professor Snape, your Potions' Master and the Head of the Slytherin House at Hogwarts, and a lifelong friend of mine – he explained to the boy, lifting his fingers from his back and stretching it in the teacher's direction to shake his hand.  
With the amount of times Snape had visited the Manor in his life it was almost surprising that his son even needed the explaining, but the noble family had been making their greatest effort not to let their, either way a tad spoiled, only-child become too aware of their influence too soon. It was better to introduce him to their connections gradually, which they clearly had opted for in this case at least, judging by the mix of fear and respect on the blond boy's face.

\- Greetings, Lucius – Severus responded with the same gesture. - Narcissa - he bowed his head in the direction of the witch, as always right by the side of her husband – And this is Draco, I presume? – he offered to shake the child's hand as well, simultaneously twisting his lips in what was intended as a smile.  
That didn't work too well, as the boy backed off marginally, which in turn resulted in him being pushed by his father towards the Potions' Master.  
\- I am... Pleased to meet you, professor – he finally dared to utter, clumsily imitating the way his father greeted new acquaintances.

\- And what brings you to King's Cross, Severus? Undoubtedly you're not escorting a kid to platform 9 3/4... – Mr. Malfoy decided to inquire.  
\- I had responsibilities to take care of nearby and decided I might as well apparate from here - he explained in a brusque tone, trying to signal that he would tolerate no further nosiness from his old friend.

\- I understand - Lucius responded, looking at him quite intently - Well then, professor, we won't torment you any longer. We wish you a safe journey and when you arrive at Hogwarts I am convinced that you will take great care of Draco, guaranteed he lands in Slytherin House, of course – the wizard smiled ironically, as if such accident was so improbable it could only be a joke.

\- And I am sure he will be an important addition to the House – Snape replied. - Now, if you excuse me, I indeed ought to leave. And so do you, if you intend to catch the train. Goodbye and safe travels to you too - he added turning to Draco, seconds before he disappeared from King's Cross.

* * *

Elena's family managed to find the platform 9 in no time, having the witch experienced in getting to Hogwarts by train act as their guide. Only there did it hit Elena's parents that she was supposed to board on platform 9 3/4.  
\- What did the letter say, again? 9 and three quarters? Are you sure? - Carwen kept asking in disbelief.  
\- Is it a joke of some sort? - Franco intended his question for Aneira, but to his surprise it was Ada who answered him having just jumped out from the wall before him.  
\- No, uncle, it's just magic - she chuckled - Kiss them goodbye and come with me! - she said to her cousin.

Elena did what her cousin commanded her to - she hugged both of her parents tightly, freeing them from the stupor caused by the older girl's stunt, promised that she'll remember to write letters regularly and asked them to pay Ruffles everyday from her. Ada barely let her finish when she pulled her hand and, helping her with pushing the trolley, swiftly travelled to the other side alongside her. There, still not fully used to walking through walls, Elena stopped in shock, watching all of the presumably magical families around her.

In the meantime Aneira tried to settle Elena's parents' nerves at least a bit and ditched them for a little while to join the girls at the hidden platform by herself, having decided that the muggle adults would be just dead weight for her. She found them talking with Ada's housemates.  
\- Hello, girls! I see you've already made you acquaintance with Adalie's friends - she approached them.  
\- She's gonna land in Raven anyways, best be prepared, right? - the cousin discerned, sending a knowing look to the rest when her mother started speaking.  
\- Certainly. I presume you'll manage from now on? Or should I help you get the suitcases inside? - she offered.  
\- Nah, we all know the spell, even if we're not technically on school grounds. Well, El doesn't, but Natasha will teach her - Ada decided.

She gave her mom a kiss on the cheek and the adult witch left them alone. The young Ravenclaws indeed took care of the first year student, showing her the incantation for Wingardium Leviosa and then helped her out with its usage on the bags, before the train started sorting them out itself the moment they landed on its floor. Soon enough the whole group was inside the train, taking up a whole compartment and the train took off.

The journey went smoothly for Elena, nicely nestled up amongst the older Ravenclaws, who spent the whole time on gossiping about the teachers, students and new classes that Ada, Natasha and Susanna were going to take this semester as fourth years. The two other students, as she found out during the ride, were called Cho and Mary and were only one and two years older than her, respectively, and as such had even more patience for her anxiety related to the begging of a new chapter of her life, which suddenly kicked. Luckily, the group got on really well from the start and while eating the pumpkin pasties in her seat next to Ada, Elena noticed that she felt almost at home amongst them.

At one point of the travel, however, the young girl was forced to leave them for moment to go to the loo. Finding it on the train prove a difficult task as she had to search three cars before it finally revealed itself. On her way back, while in a compartmentless wagon taken up mainly by Slytherins, she suddenly lost her balance and landed on her hands and knees on the floor.

\- What is it, first year? Can't even keep your balance on the train? – she heard a laugh behind her back.  
When she got back on her feet and tried to return to her car, she got stopped by three Slythers, blocking her way.  
\- Not so fast, grizzly girl – a tall blond boy said, although she wasn't even sure whether he was mocking her appearance or the tears that started filling her eyes.  
She managed to contain them, but couldn't force herself to face the attacker.

\- Come on, Cassius – a dark-haired girl tried to calm him a little – Do you have any wizards or witches in your family, grizzly?  
\- My aunt is Aneira Hughes – she answered proudly.  
\- Hughes? You're from that nutjob's family? – she looked at her friends in disbelief – Another mudblood-freak, just what this school needs!  
Her insults were followed by a second burst of laughter, while Elena tried to fight off the urge to cry. She finally lifted her head up and looked at the mean teens bravely.  
\- You're so courageous, staring at us like that – said the other girl mockingly – Oh look, she has two different eyes! Just like my dog Motley-eyes, which I used to practice spells on – she said, in the middle of the sentence changing her tone to a menacing one – He's dead now. Cute puppy, he was, just as cute as you, little mudblood – she pulled on Elena's cheek. 

\- Ouch! – the blonde suddenly backed her hand – She bit me!  
\- Bad dog! Bad, rabid dog! – shouted Cassius, dishing out a kick towards El.  
She dodged it and that very second someone else walked into the wagon.  
\- Why don't you all pick somebody your own size? – half of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had apparently just exited the Buffet Car, and, lead by their captain, they were the ones that saved Elena from further distress, as she found out later.  
\- Go, poor girl, we'll deal with them! – the boy whose voice stopped Cassius earlier said to her and she run away.

She spent the remaining twenty minutes of the journey crying to her newly found Ravenclaw friends, righteously outraged at the bullies. She felt very disappointed with herself for having to rely on the help of some random brave strangers instead of dealing with her problems herself. But the Ravens finally cheered her up a little just when they were arriving at Hogsmeade, where, to her disappointment, they had to separate.

The train stopped at the station after the sun had already set and when Elena heard Rubeus Hagrid, who was, she had been told earlier – the groundskeeper of the school, she felt excitement fill her heart again. After getting on a boat with three other girls she almost completely forgot about the accident from earlier. She was engulfed in conversation with one of the other first years, a sweet girl with curly hair called Hermione, about the interesting history of Hogwarts' houses, when the majestic castle appeared from the fog floating above the lake. She was taking in everything in awe, feeling like she were an adventurer from one of the books her mum used to read her when she was little.

The Sorting Ceremony began soon after they entered the school grounds. Elena followed the tall, skinny old woman dressed in a green robe, whose name she forgot immediately after hearing it, too excited to think straight, along with the other children and in the Great Hall saw her cousin and the other Ravenclaws smiling at her reassuringly.

The old woman then took the position in front of them, holding a big, tattered brown magician's hat. Standing in the crowd of 1st years, Elena waited impatiently for her turn to walk up to the dais, barely paying attention to the litany of names. She witnessed Hermione, those two boys she said she met on the train, Hannah, Draco and some others get sorted, before the professor finally read her name:  
\- Elena Castel.  
She walked up daringly to the chair and sat down, while the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

\- Hmmm... Where should I put you? – it wondered for a while.  
\- Thirst for knowledge, lots of ambition for sure, loyalty too.. You're striving to be wise... or rather... cunning. Resilient above all... more powerful and smart than you give yourself credit for... devoted... even to those you've lost... manipulative... could be brave... – it murmured, and all she was thinking was that those didn't exactly sound like Ravenclaw characteristics, more like Gryffindor at best, but before she could give it a hint it where she would like to land, it announced – Slytherin!

She blinked a few times and even pinched herself to ensure it wasn't some sort of a nightmare her dream about the School of Magic turned into. Scanning the room with a rather absent gaze she noticed Adalie's worried expression and the sly smiles of some of the Slytherins she had the bad luck to meet earlier that day. When she vacated the chair, having been gently nudged by professor McGonagall, she suddenly felt all energy leave her and almost fell down.  
\- What is it, child? – the old woman asked her with sincere concern – Are you unhappy about the house you have been sorted into?  
\- No... yes, professor.  
The old woman let her sit back in the chair and to the surprise of the whole hall she put the Hat back on.  
\- Sure, you could fit in Ravenclaw, but I already told you, Slytherin it is! – it scolded her, irritated - You'll find I was right in the years to come.

This time when she tried to stand up she just collapsed to the ground.


	3. Simple wishes, complicated dreams

**_Notes from the author:_**_ I managed to find a way to section chapters on here (since mine did not work before, hence the solid block of text with different POVs, which I am sincerely apologising for).  
**TW**: suicide, gambling._

The hallway was illuminated by the moonlight coming through the ornate windows, not a soul in sight. As it should be considering that it was almost midnight and thus long past students' bedtime hour. Complete silence reigned amongst the stone walls of the school and only an extraordinary sense of hearing would let one distinguish the sound of an animal running through the hall. It dashed swiftly towards the entrance to the tower, followed by its equally quiet and agile shadow.

\- If you expect me to coddle that muggle-born solely because she had the misfortune of landing in this particular House, then you must be confusing me with Pomona – the brusque voice of Severus' was coming from Dumbledore's office, audible loud and clear to the tabby cat's ears as it approached.  
\- Sherbet Lemon – the password was said to the gargoyle.  
A few seconds later Minerva McGonagall entered the room.  
\- You've called for me, Headmaster.  
Albus did not even bother explaining why he had decided that this council should only consist of the two Heads of Houses instead of all four of them, but she suspected his reasoning possibly revolved around the Stone. The first topic of their meeting, on the other hand, would not require clarification even if she hadn't had the privilege of hearing the bits of the men's quarrel from the corridor.  
\- Yes, thank you for coming Minerva.  
\- As I was saying – Snape continued, unbothered by the her appearing – She wasn't even a Hatstall. Those were 3 minutes at most, not counting yours, professor, intervention – he gave her a look that conveyed his disapproval better than words could - Therefore she either will manage on her own as a Slytherin should or the Hat has made a huge mistake. In each of those cases I am not willing to intervene.

After he finished, he possibly intended to leave, but the principal did not let him exit the room yet, this time him being the one who communicated without using speech. Then he said, however, addressing the woman:  
\- And what is your standpoint?  
\- Oh well... – she stalled, wondering how to phrase her thoughts on the matter, since she had plenty.

She sympathised with the girl, so much in fact that she did, as Snape spitefully discerned, unintentionally let her attract more attention to herself that it was probably prudent by letting her wrestle with the Hat again. Herself having been a Hatstall and a one that fiercely argued her way to the House she chose, she understood her reaction and didn't really deem it just that she would just be forced to comply with the Hat's will. On the other hand, such occurrences were very, very much uncommon. Hat, although stubborn, was not sadistic and, especially in a case as delicate as this, its decision verged on cruelty. Sentencing a muggle-born, against her will, to Slytherin House, was... well – a sentence. A punishment for possessing the wrong skills, the wrong characteristics. And Minerva, in all her rationality, wouldn't judge the Hat as one for mercilessness, therefore it must have had a point. It did sometimes happen that it would be able to foresee some of the things in a student's future and made its decision on the basis of that. She was therefore convinced that this must have been one of those cases.

\- It is true that sometimes the Hat makes an unpredictable decision, as is the fact that it rarely did insist on putting a student into a House despite their personal wish over the years – she finally resumed speaking after the short pause - But that gives us the more reason to believe that the Hat is right. Therefore, I think we should wait and see what happens. And meanwhile we have other things to take care of, don't we?

\- You do indeed – suddenly the Hat itself spoke up uninvited – And I don't make mistakes! How many times do I have to prove that?!  
\- Hmm... – Dumbledore pondered over their words for some time before he continued – I agree with you, Minerva. We should now focus on the other issue that caused me to convene this meeting, but I am asking you both to keep an eye on that girl in case she needed our help.  
\- Severus, have you made any progress regarding the identity of the unsuccessful thief?  
\- No, not yet, Albus. Although I believe I have found a trail leading to h... them – he immediately corrected himself, determined not to reveal his suspicions too early on.  
\- Then keep on looking. You are dismissed now – the headmaster ordered, accentuating the last word since he still had in mind Snape's hasty attempt at leaving from before.

When the two Gryffindors were alone, Albus talked to Minerva about the young Potter, sharing his knowledge about the possible return of Voldemort.  
\- He had been spotted already. And his specific magic is not hard to identify, even in his weakened state. Therefore we have all the more reason to worry that he will attempt to find Harry soon – he informed her, stroking his beard.  
\- In those circumstances I must ask you to help me shield the boy, if the need comes and to watch over him with extra care. Do you agree to do so?  
\- Yes, of course I agree – her tone revealed a slight annoyance at the fact, that he would even feel the need to ask. She was the Head of the House, after all, shouldn't that mean she would try her best to aid and protect all of the children in it?

Soon their meeting ended, the tabby cat went back to McGonagall's living quarters and the castle could remain in deep sleep, uninterrupted for the rest of the night.

* * *

She woke up at Madame Pomfrey's, when the sun rose and its rays started slipping into the room through the curtains, landing on her still closed eyelids.  
\- Good morning, Ms. Castel. I hope you're feeling a little better now – said the nurse, seeing that she had opened her eyes.  
\- Good morning, Madame – she managed to respond through the persistent fog in her mind.

It took her a while to recall the events of the previous night, but when she understood her situation she was horrified. Luckily, this time she couldn't lose consciousness that easily since the hospital bed was supporting her.  
\- What happened to me? – she asked the woman for clarification, unsure whether she wasn't imagining things.  
\- You passed out in the Great Hall yesterday and then were brought here – she began, her voice a tad abrasive but very calming at the same time.- You have a rather bad case of anaemia and you must have strained yourself far over your abilities. For now I will abstain from prescribing you anything for it, because if you adhere to my guidance alone, you should get better soon.

With great dismay she realised that she remembered everything correctly. She blacked out in front of the whole school after being sorted into The Worst House twice in a row. "I will not have a life at this school now, will I?" she wondered, ignoring the medical part of the nurse's reply as insignificant for now, focusing solely on her social reputation which, she was sure, couldn't have taken a blow stronger than this one.

But before she could dwell on it any further, she heard Ada's voice coming from the entrance. The 4th grader either must have been eaves-dropping and heard that she had woken up or just timed her visit really well by chance.  
\- No visits before 8 are allowed – the old woman stated in a strict tone, when the Ravenclaw cracked the door half-open.  
\- Unless the patient wishes to leave the wing and needs someone's help! - Adalie, always being the one to know the rules better than their enforcers did, exclaimed in response.  
\- Please, let her in. I am allowed to leave before breakfast anyways, right? – Elena joined in with her plead.  
\- You may come in, but only to escort your friend out. So you can't stay here for long – the matron agreed reluctantly.

\- Morning El! – the Ravenclaw's cheerful piping filled the room. Another girl, a plump brunette with a yellow badge on her robes entered with her.  
\- This is Felicia, by the way, she doesn't travel by the train, so you couldn't meet her earlier – she introduced her companion – But tell us: how are you doing?  
\- Not so well, actually. I think I hit my head pretty hard.  
\- Yeah you did. Sounded like a ball falling to the floor, actually. And Snape had to carry you to the hospital wing.  
\- What?!  
\- I mean, he's the head of your house now, isn't he? And demons know what the other Snakes would do were it not for him and Dumbledore – she carelessly spilled the beans.

When complete silence fell in response, the other girl realized what Ada had just told her cousin and started speaking in her place, choosing the words much more warily.  
-Well, it's better that you had a good night's sleep here, that's all she's saying, cause we don't think there has ever been an incident like yours in the last like... two hundred years of Hogwarts, so you will definitely be the talk of the school in the days to come. Along with that Potter-boy, of course, yet still...  
\- But the Slytherins... they were so enraged! You should have seen their faces, really! – Adalie cut in - A muggleborn refusing the honour the Hat bestowed on her, oh, those stuck-up asses will learn like they haven't for years.  
\- Language! – the Hufflepuff was clearly the best-behaved one here.

\- You girls are still in here? – Madame Pomfrey inquired slightly annoyed, when she took a look inside from the other part of the office, as if summoned by the swearword.  
\- We're on our way out, Mrs. Pomfrey! – the blonde lied, quietly whispering to the others under her breath – So, we gotta go, where are your things El?  
\- I don't think I had anything with me other than my robes. And I still got them on – Elena muttered as she got out of bed.  
The nurse appeared in the doorway the moment she stood up.  
\- If you feel dizzy please report to me immediately, so that I can aid you with appropriate medicine, if need be – she ordered her on her way back, giving her the her wizarding hat that must have been brought along with her to here and which she must have kept in the other room for her. She handed it to her and then waited until the door closed behind them before she returned to her part of the wing.

The three girls left the nurse's office and they walked through the corridors right to the staircase leading to the dungeons. Just before the door Elena stopped and looked at them with uncertainty.  
\- We'll go with you and wait, don't worry! – Felicia reassured her.  
\- But I don't even know the password!  
\- Oh... right – she gasped with realisation – Then maybe I can go to Dumbledore to fetch it for you? – the brunette offered.  
\- Yes, thank you Felicia! Meanwhile we can as well get downstairs and try getting you in somehow – Ada decided for her cousin again.

As they descended suddenly Elena saw something fall out of her hat. It turned out to be a small piece of paper with the three sentences:_"Two lefts, three rights, one left. Dendroaspis polylepis (Black Mamba). Never share with outsiders or you'll face the worst of fates."_ written on it with harsh black lines of ink that disappeared the moment she shifted her gaze from it.  
\- I think I have the password! – she said, suddenly a bit more hopeful.  
For now, she decided, it was better to postpone wondering who could have written the hints and focus on getting to breakfast and facing whatever music she inadvertently composed for herself yesterday, she was, however, planning to solve that riddle sooner or later.

Finally she reached the doors to the Slytherin common room, leaving the older girl at the entrance to the dungeons, far outside the range of hearing, while she said the proper Latin name of the species and to her pleasant surprise was indeed allowed to enter. She gathered up all of her determination as she marched swiftly through the long, green room lighted by the eerie afterglow coming from the lake.

\- Look who decided to show up! The muggle who is too good for the Slytherin House! – she heard the bully from yesterday snarling, but she forced herself not to turn her head towards her.  
She managed to get to the bedrooms undisturbed apart from the numerous unwelcoming stares, and inside she found her bed easily as the suitcases as well as Supersteses' cage were lying right beside it. Not having enough time to unpack now, she only gave the bird something to eat and then went into the bathroom to brush her hair and teeth before she left, still wary of any possible confrontation with her housemates.

When she was returning to her cousin waiting outside, the vicious girl was already gone, which Ada confirmed the second she saw Elena:  
\- Was that blondie the bitch that tormented you yesterday?  
\- What? Yes, why?  
\- Oh, she had something against a Raven hanging out here, of course. You can sit with us during breakfast, by the way, I'm sure the prefect won't mind, given your current... situation – they continued talking while on their way to the Great Hall.  
Upstairs they met Felicia, who apologised for not being able to retrieve the password since the principal claimed he did not know it himself and then tried to convince Elena that she should "give the Snakes a try".  
\- Maybe they're not as bad as they seem?

The younger girl, being rather easily swayed in her opinions, listened to her and sat with the Slytherin 1st years at first. When she approached the table she heard a murmur rolling through her housemates. She took her place amongst the youngest of the students and started eating. They didn't hassle her, indeed, but they didn't want to talk to her either, possibly frightened that the rage of the older pureblood could transfer to them easily. The last straw that broke the camel's back was, however, the push she received, presumably from Cassius when he was passing her, because it definitely came from far above her head. She then stood up and ostentatiously moved with her plate to the Ravenclaw's table instead. "Well, I really hope that Potter guy is gossip-worthy, more so than me at least" she thought to herself, catching the curious glances. "But at least I'll have someone to talk to for the rest of the meal". She was right about that, since her cousin and her friends were almost equally glad about the change of seats as she was herself and they finished eating while discussing the recipes for potions as well as the love-lives of Natasha and Adalie.

After breakfast Elena went back to her common room and took a quick shower before she prepared for her classes. Then she took the books and went behind the other Slytherins, keeping a safe distance.  
First was Charms, with professor Flitwick. There she chose a seat next to Mandy, a Ravenclaw with strawberry blonde hair she recognised from the breakfast. Anything to avoid interaction with the Snakes. Unluckily, Draco Malfoy, who was late to the class, had to take the place on her left. They even interacted once, when the boy dropped his wand, failing to properly use the Lumos Charm that the teacher chose to start the course with, and she automatically leaned under her desk to fish for it.  
\- Thanks – he said, to her shock at the fact that even Slytherins could sometimes be polite.  
Truly, she had no reason to think that before.

Next she had Herbology, where she shared the station in the greenhouse with another Ravenclaw, this time it being a dark-haired and olive-skinned girl named Padma, while professor Sprout explained to them what types of plants were in her care. They were supposed to have another, double period class each week with more practical work with actual plants and she was looking forward to it, even though she had some reservations towards the whole "gardening" part of this subject. It seemed that her desk mate had similar worries, so they bonded over it a little, although she was soon about to find out that the Patil twins were inseparable despite being in different houses and then they started to irritate her a bit.

The third lesson on that day was History of Magic – for many students possibly the least fascinating subject on their timetables, yet Elena, a person who despite having a "crazy witch" in her family already, knew almost nothing about the way magicians lived hoped to find it interesting. Sadly she was let down , and hugely, which she found out five minutes into the hour and a half class, when she started to become so drowsy, she had to fight it by drawing all over her notebook. But they had it with Gryffindor, so at least during the break she had her chance to talk to her boat companion from yesterday again.

\- Hello Hermione – she started, approaching hers and the boys' desk in the short break during the doubled periods – Do you remember me from yesterday?  
\- Hello Elena, of course I remember you! This is Harry and that's Ron – she introduced the other two Gryffons – In case you don't remember after... you know – she alluded to the possible concusion of El's.  
It seemed that one of the few perks of having caused such a scene during the Sorting Ceremony was not being classified as a foe straight away in the eyes of all of the pupils from the other houses. "I am the rebellious Snake, unlike the other vicious ones, right?" she found herself sort of enjoying that position.

\- Did you know that the last time The Hat put a muggle-born in Slytherin was in 1857? – Hermione asked her leaning over to her when Elena sat in the temporarily empty chair next to Ron.  
\- Really? – she partly felt horrified by this fact, but also intrigued and slightly... proud to be so special.  
\- Yeah, I read about it in History of Hogwarts. That boy's name was Finneas Dayton, but I couldn't find any information about his life now, sadly. And with sorting that was not complying with the will of the student the situation is even more peculiar there is nobody that had this problem in the recent past, after the 1600s, to be exact – she explained.  
\- Whoah! That's nearly 4 hundred years! – the ginger boy seemed a lot more shocked than the actual addressee of that information.

"How is it that she's not in Ravenclaw?" – Elena wondered and almost immediately answered herself – "Well, the Hat apparently has a lot more knowledge than I had assumed before or maybe it's just my judgment that is poor, so in this case it must have been right as well."  
\- Yeah, this is shocking – she agreed. – If you find anything more about those people please let me know. And by the way how are you guys doing? – she added, somehow awkwardly, aware that her desperation in looking for friends might be apparent.  
It seemed, however, that the girl didn't mind, since she eagerly responded with describing to her what they had been up to, focusing especially on the foolish mistakes Ron had made in Charms classes to the redhead's displeasure. Sadly, soon the deceased history professor came back into the classroom and after the bell rang the boring lecture was resumed, prompting Elena to return to her seat in the back, where she had the perfect view of her classmates, who she was sketching one by one. It turned out, however, that even her best efforts didn't shield her against the overwhelming sleepiness, which she lost her battle to about half an hour into the lesson.

When the bell rang the students hurriedly started leaving whilst she was still slowly coming back to reality, woken up by the noise. When she realised that this was the lunch-break, it was already too late to try to follow the three Gryffons, since they had disappeared somewhere a few minutes ago and even if they were heading towards the Great Hall she wouldn't be able to catch up with them. Being the shortest in the year, which she noticed during the Sorting Ceremony that she most likely was, had its numerous disadvantages. Not feeling very hungry and due to the lack of promise of cultivating a new friendship, she decided to go back to the Common Room and take care of Superstes first.

This time alone in the spacious chamber she actually had the time to admire the interior of the dungeon. It was rather dark, with sea-green wallpaper and dark brown panelling and heavy, emerald curtains around the huge windows facing the Great Lake, through the waters of which distorted sunlight fell inside. The mystic ambience was accentuated by the black skulls and skull-shaped candles standing everywhere on the mahogany shelves as well as on the decorative, green mantelpiece underneath which blue fire burned. When she suddenly saw movement, at first she thought it could be the squid coming closer to the windows once again, but to her disenchantment it turned out to be another student. "Draco" she assigned the name to the face quickly.

\- What are you doing here? – they both said, almost in unison and burst out laughing.  
\- So, you go first – the blond boy said, commanded almost judging by the tone of his voice, when they both calmed down.  
\- I was going to feed my raven and patch up his leg. And you?  
\- I came to leave my books, alone. Don't tell them, but Crabbe and Goyle can be annoying sometimes, you know?  
\- How would I? I have no idea who those are yet – she smiled, shrugging. - I get it though. Everyone's tiring occasionally.

Suddenly the realisation dawned on him and she saw it written all over his face just before his behaviour changed drastically.  
\- You are that muggle-girl, aren't you? – he said with superiority.  
\- Yes. What about it? – she retorted with a question, preparing to defend herself verbally or otherwise, if need were.  
"Well, now we can scrap all the nice housemates-talk, can't we?" she thought.  
\- This is not the House for muggle-borns – he said using that lofty tone again.  
"Wonder where he learned that from? One would think they're talking to the Queen herself..." she sneered internally, not yet aware of the amount of conceit every resident of the Malfoy manor could serve with their words.  
\- Oh, I know, I've already been told countless times. What am I to do though? The Hat ignored me, so it must think I suit here. And I really want to, you know? It's just that everyone seems to hate me and it's only been a day – she said more sincerely, hoping that ditching the bellicose facade would cause him to do the same.

\- Hmmm... – the boy shrugged, clearly conflicted between his beliefs and the fact that he didn't have anything against this girl, personally.  
"She isn't arrogant unlike that Potter, bathing in spotlight and every teacher's attention" the young Malfoy considered. "But it's so strange that old hat felt it could add a muggle to Salazar's descendants."  
\- Which House do you think is the best, then? – he finally asked her after a pause.  
Elena, deducing it was a trick-question, lied surely and without misgivings:  
\- Slytherin, because of its power and the talents it had birthed. I'm a huge fan of Merlin, for example. But I had always thought I was better suited for Ravenclaw, honestly.  
"Adding that word at the end of a false tale like this is like seasoning a perfect dish." she stopped herself from chuckling openly, simultaneously praying he wouldn't try to quiz her about her newly acquired love for Merlin, about whom she had only heard the day before on the train.

\- I agree – Draco smiled, to her relief – Now look at the time, we should already go if we want to eat at all! – he gasped, turning from the massive clock in the corner.  
– I am Draco Malfoy, by the way – he added at the end, reaching out to her.  
\- I am Elena. Castel, though that's not important – she said, sheepishly downplaying her muggleness once again.  
In that flipped order she officially met the Malfoy heir, who then hurried to the boys' bedroom and before she was done with Superstes' leg had already left. Then she followed his steps and made it to the Great Hall just in time to grab a sandwich and chat with Adalie before her next class.

Last on that day was another double-period class - Defence against the Dark Arts with professor Quirell, where she watched the stuttering man with amusement. "Does he even have any idea what he's trying to teach us about?" she asked herself a few times during those 90 minutes. He clearly was not well-respected amongst the older students either, as when he turned to get something out of a cabinet she noticed he had a card with a moving scribble of him falling down and the word "Doofus" reappearing in various fonts. "Truly, a work of art, possibly worth more time than said pupil spent studying the subject of D.A.D.A." Elena judged in her mind. She was, however, actually interested in the Lumos spell as she knew it would not be easy to get used to a life without electricity and had this was definitely something that could serve a similar purpose, at least in some cases. Therefore her attention was wandering a lot less than during the H.o.M. lessons.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful and the only thought that filled Elena's head when she was done with the classes was a very non-ravenclawy one: "Do they want to kill us with such a schedule for Mondays?". Luckily, the rest of the week turned out to be a lot less tiring, with a few highlights such as professor McGonagall brilliant scolding of the boys Hermione kept hanging out with and her equally absorbing Transfiguration classes, of course. And, at the very end of the week – El's first Potions class, which she both dreaded and was looking forwards too. After all, her favourite subject in the muggle world was chemistry, so the magical equivalent of it couldn't be that much different.

When professor Snape entered the classroom and slammed the door, the young Slytherin realised that this could potentially be the most stressful of all of her subjects, which he soon confirmed by greeting the students with the promise:  
\- I don't expect many of you to appreciate the exact art that is potion-making – his hoarse, intimidating voice filled the room - However, for those select few, who possess the predisposition... – he paused, looking at some of the Slytherins, herself not included - I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, provided you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.

Surely, she had been already informed about his strict ways, but either way did not expect the severity of it. Moreover, during the class she quickly discovered that she was not, in fact, the most unlucky amongst the whole year, when she heard the Potions' Master picking on the Gryffindors mercilessly throughout the whole lesson. Seeing that, she decided to pair up with Draco, when the time came, correctly expecting that sticking with her House could earn her sympathy in the cold eyes of Snape's.

She also felt a little weirded out by the knowledge that the vulture-like professor had, allegedly, helped her out after the Sorting Ceremony, not really convinced that Ada wasn't lying just for the sake of playing a joke on her. She had the luck of avoiding any interactions with the Head of her House earlier, so now his mean demeanour was an eerie reminder that she had already caught his attention, although involuntarily. Despite all those reservations and worries, she was immediately enticed by the "subtle art" the terrifying professor was supposed to teach them and swore to herself that she would excel in it, whatever it would take. Which, given the fact, that Snape wasn't known for leniency and judging by the students he was choosing to tease – could even be biased against those not of pureblood, might prove difficult. But she had the standards Adalie set to live up to, or else she would be mercilessly roasted by her during every family dinner.

* * *

A tawny-skinned man exited the restaurant in which a few moments before Lucius Malfoy was having a business meeting with his muggle associates. The man was wearing a grey suit with a black shirt underneath it, but his clothes were looking a lot cheaper than one would expect them to be, considering the great reputation of this place. He jaunted onto the street hurriedly, as if expecting to be stopped by someone anytime, but his walk still had a certain grace to it.  
Less than five minutes have passed before that same man entered the building again, this time dressed in a waiter's uniform and through another door.

Meanwhile someone appeared in the stands of the Newmarket Courses. Literally appeared out of thin air, although only Knight of Mercy, the dark-bay stallion, seemed to have noticed. He shook his head unexpectedly when he saw the human with olive skin and long hair, almost as dark as his mane, from the paddock, and thus earned a scolding from his equestrian. The man he spotted did not realise that he had been observed or that his spell was apparently not working on magically apt animals, yet he probably wouldn't have cared either way, too focused on the goal of his visit to pay attention to meaningless details like that. And besides, he had already used up the power of his perfectionism for today in the managing of his meetings in such a way that neither his assistant nor his wife would be able to see through his falsehoods, which with his tight schedule for this Thursday was no small accomplishment.

He now took a look at all the horses in the paddock before they were led to their slots, both to take his impression into account when choosing his favourite and to calm himself down a little. He did respect nature quite a lot, and amongst the non-magical creatures horses were one of the species, he held in the highest esteem having always found their beauty oddly soothing. The glistening fur on their backs, the manes and tails dancing in the wind when they run... No wonder he was willing to pay so much for such views. And today he truly was perplexed by the accidental encounter he had the day before and felt mentally strained, barely able to enjoy himself at all.

"What exactly am I afraid of?" he asked himself. "Severus would never dare to betray me" he tried to appease himself, but despite their history he wasn't sure he could trust him on this. He knew how much that man respected Narcissa, therefore it could very well be possible that he would be more loyal to her than to him and alarm her. Maybe if he had at least given him an explanation... But that was too hard, almost unachievable on his part, as he felt far too uneasy sharing his secrets willingly. Oh, the worries of an addict."What do I even do it for if it could cost me so much?" he thought in a brief moment of reason. "Because I'd trade my dignity for the thrill" he admitted with resignation, approaching the bookies' stand and taking his place in the queue. He didn't fit in with those people, mostly middle-class muggle males, who were coming there to spend a half of their salaries on fatuous decisions and to get away from their responsibilities and nagging wives trying to talk some sense into them. It was visible even in this disguise. His gaze and disposition transferred between the bodies as did the manner of speech, full of haughtiness, all of which would betray him easily, were he confronted with anyone that knew either him or this waiter well. Not possessing any talents in acting or pretending, he was constantly playing with fire. Or would "gambling on his name" be a better way to phrase it...

Luckily for him, he had no idea of how close he came to being discovered today, otherwise he would have risked even more on Smiling Sun coming first, when it was finally his turn to place his bet. Although the wizard was already using up all of his shrewdness on the meticulous planning, even with magic one could not predict all of the variables, neither in betting itself nor in covering up his absences and the addiction as a whole. But one thing was certain – that it seemed worth it, only in those brief moments of excitement after the gates were lifted up and the horses would discharge onto the course. Only then was his mind clear of all tribulations, until they'd come to hit him with double force during the counting of the money lost (or won, although lately the latter version was less frequent) at least. His "passion", like he would euphemistically call it in those rare cases when he'd meet someone with a similar pastime, whom he could easily blackmail into keeping the secret if need be (before they'd dare to use it as a leverage against him, that is), required a lot of money and other resources, especially those necessary to hide it from most people.  
Not only was it shameful for a wizard to devote himself to gambling at all, it being a devastating muggle addiction, it was all the more shameful for him, a respected man of pure blood and strong principles, who spoke of his fellow businessman with contempt solely for the fact that they were a different race.

With similar, fear-ridden thoughts filling his head he finally departed the stadium when the race ended with Perfolia outpacing his perceived frontrunner. He had nothing else to look for here, since he found others' joy exasperating and their sadness pathetic and was already halfway through the vial with Pollyjuice. Besides – he knew that there would be another race in a few week. He still could win.

* * *

He stood on the Albert's Bridge, eyes closed, strands of his hair now wet due to the heavy fog were whipping his face every time the wind blew. His cape was fluttering around him, although heavier than it usually felt. He pulled out his wand with a clear intention in his head and when he felt it pulsating in protest he forced it to obey his will. Painfully twisting his hand he pointed it at himself and prepared to say the incantation. He had more than enough practice with this one, but it was going to be the last time he'd cast it. It was as if his lips stopped obeying him just like that piece of cherry wood just tried to. When he finally managed to utter the words quietly, trembling either out of fear or because of the chilly air surrounding him, a flash of red light brightened the night. He looked at the cloudy night sky for the last time and closed his eyes. In the otherworldly gleam, his body fell down inertly and landed in Thames, causing the water to spatter all around when the black waves of the river swallowed it as a hungry creature would its prey.

He opened his eyes and realized he was standing by Lily's grave, possibly trying to pray to gods he had never believed in when he drifted off. Suddenly he felt someone's hand delicately placing itself on his shoulder.  
\- It's fine. I don't blame you, Severus - he heard the woman's voice whispering faintly, Lily's voice.  
It took a while before he noticed that on the grave there were three names. The third one, freshly whittled, seemed to scream to him from the silent grey stone - Harry James Potter. He felt his throat clenching as if there was a noose around it.

\- I... I... – he stuttered, his chest aching and mind racing in terror – I am sorry... – he said, knowing well that those were just empty words when he fell short so badly. The only thing he could have done for her, to honour her posthumously was saving the person she risked her life with such grim consequences, and he did not manage to do it. He failed her. Again. The solemn expression on his face started to twist into a spasm of tearless weeping.

He turned around, looking for solace in her eyes. To his horror he only saw void. The green irises were gone, replaced by darkness. That was not his Lily anymore. The creature that was addressing him with this dear stolen voice smiled at him viciously and reached for his hand. Unable to back away, he was forced to watch as it turned the features he once loved into monstrosity while it changed shape. When it stopped it had the face of Albus Dumbledore. Then it tore apart the sleeve of his robe and looked at his dark mark with utmost disgust.  
\- I don't blame you, Severus – it repeated, now with the deep voice of the headmaster – I condemn you.

He woke up unable to breathe and with his blood running as cold as the marble floor he stood upon after getting up from his bed. He approached the tall window and moved the heavy, black curtain to look into the depths of the lake. It was black as the void he'd dreamed of, the light of the moon barely reflected only in the layers of water that were closer to the surface. He listened in, hearing only the waves clashing against the magically reinforced glass. And suddenly – a laugh coming from somewhere on his right.

A few minutes later the door to the Slytherin Common Room opened unexpectedly, scaring the 5th years who were currently trying to communicate with the ghost of Merlin as appropriate on the night before Halloween, and revealed a tall silhouette of their professor with a bat-like cape and an expression on his face much angrier than any phantom that could have been summoned by them.


	4. Friends and foes

_**Notes from the author: **Okay, so this got longer than I expected. Btw be warned that some creepy themes regarding Snape's obsession about Lily will be appearing (not "in that way" creepy though)._

For most the 16th of October was just another ordinary Wednesday. Mr. Borgin, however, was hoping to make it a great day for his business. He was, therefore, in a rather unusual, pleasant mood, which manifested in him not being as hasty in his movements as if some kind of demon was nipping on his heels. He came to work early and prepared the products he was expecting to sell later, packing them into neat, black boxes with labels that named the contents rather than the supposed receivers. Out of those two possibilities, the latter was significantly more embarrassing, not to say – often dangerous, and he believed that his customers, or guests, as he'd sometimes refer to them in a humble tone when trying to convince them to spend more "his guests", had nothing to be ashamed of. Sure, they'd oftentimes show interest in the most threatening of his goods, the ones that were strongly connected with dark magic, death, malady and the wizards and witches the world would rather forget about, but he personally believed that no great magic had ever been benevolent, and vice versa and his shop truly represented that belief.

Having organised the items, he sat by his desk in the back of the main room and started doing his paperwork, counting the money with utmost precision and dedication bordering on lust towards the shiny coins leaping between his bony, contorted fingers. Every now and then he would raise his eyes from upon the heaps of documents and cash to take a look at the antique long-case clock on his left and then at the door, awaiting the time when someone would finally enter.

When the glass-panelled door finally opened, a tall man dressed in all-black robes entered. Aware that even when it was the vendor who sought the client not the other way round as in this instance, it was a malpractice not to let them wander around the exhibition space and take a look at all of the artefacts of dubious origin laying in their display cases. Of course, the best approach varied according to the type of the customer. But this one? Oh... he knew this one.

That man had it long time coming before he would visit old Borgin again. Although this time it was under notably different circumstances, he still remained the same in terms of character. Always determined to inspect every little thing in the shop, yet never intending to spend a penny above what he himself had decided, demanding and abrupt in his disposition when he actually had to interact with the owner. Not as difficult a customer, however, as the second man he was to see today, hopefully no sooner than in an hour or so. But for now, the shopkeeper could not afford to preoccupy himself with what was to come, but in turn needed to focus on his black-loving guest's order as he was already advancing towards his desk, which also doubled as a counter for all of the transactions.

\- Good morning, Mr. Snape – Borgin addressed him, seeing no reason to remind the man of his title at Hogwarts, since it was unlikely that it was a professional issue that brought him here.  
Whenever a teacher from that school would come inside, it usually meant a huge profit for the shop but it definitely wasn't profitable to show any interest in the purpose of their purchases. Therefore he was not offended when the young man responded to his greeting with cold:  
\- Morning. You know what I came for.

With that being said and acknowledged, the shopkeeper disappeared into the storage to retrieve the prepared items. In the moment of his departure, the door opened again with a creak and through it came another tall, long-haired wizard, who as well had an appointment fixed with the owner earlier and his neatly packed order waiting for him on one of the shabby shelves of the stockroom.

Neither Borgin nor Severus needed to look over their shoulders to guess the identity of the second client. The gloomy professor easily recognised that distinctive sound of a cane knocking against the floor, resembling the walk of some triple-legged creature and it filled him with irritation and spite instead of unease. By contrast the shopkeeper suddenly lost all his joy from the morning when he realised that the two men's arrivals had collided. He considered discretion to be golden rule of trade and therefore preferred to deal with customers without witnesses. For that reason he had desperately wanted to keep his, most of the time more or less scheduled, guests from running into each other in his place of business. Sadly in some cases he had no way of ensuring they'd come at different times without raising their suspicions with such fiddling.

When he came back, carrying two packages at once, his actions had regained their typical nervousness. It seemed, however, that the two men had even chosen to engage in a conversation, exchanging pleasantries before his arrival back at the counter. Or rather - unpleasantries, as he figured from the expression on the face of Lucius Malfoy.

Snape, it turned out, had decided to repay the older wizard for his semi-friendly intrusiveness the last time they saw each other, over a month ago at the station, by asking him a dreadful question, inquiring what had brought him here. The blonde stared him down for a while before answering:  
\- Nothing that would concern your honourable soul, Severus.  
In that manner he sarcastically alluded to the fact that they were ultimately in similar positions, both making deals in this disreputable hole of a shop, but he at least was known to be an active practitioner of Dark Magic, unlike the aspiring pedagogue in front of him. He did not, however, manage to intimidate the professor into dropping the topic. The dark-haired wizard had a mission to fulfil and could not let Lucius think even for a second that there was nothing malicious about his visit here, otherwise people he would rather his aims remained a mystery to could have been notified. Besides, he admittedly enjoyed pestering him and, judging from experience, the feeling was reciprocated.  
\- Oh, is that so? I doubt either of your statements is accurate, Lucius, but I would not dare to ruin your narrative.

The skittish old man observed them talking with a dose of apprehension as he approached and greeted Mr. Malfoy. He then took the silver and golden coins from the wizards, and respectively handed each of them his package. Before he could prevent it he saw Snape reading the label on the box of his second client, who evidently wanted to conceal it and failed to do so. Despite his firm conviction that one should never be ashamed of their purchases from his shop, he instinctively jerked back a little, correctly predicting what was about to happen.

\- You are trying a different branch of magic, it seems – the words that earned Severus a stab to his foot with the silver point of Malfoy's cane were preceded by his confident smirk and followed by a silent scowl of pain.  
\- And you are trying to get on my nerves, it seems. Goodbye – Lucius retorted as he turned on his heel and in fast, yet gracious steps took his leave and exited the shop, promising himself to never cross its threshold again. He simply could not afford to be exposed like that, not with all the damage a single phrase could cause, was it to get through to Narcissa. "I will have to find another way. It was convenient while it lasted, though at any rate it was only a matter of time before I would meet a familiar face in there. But why did it have to be Sev out of all people? That prying scrag could never keep his nose out of other people's business... Why him?". Plagued by worry, he returned to the Manor and spend the rest of the day locked in his study, revelling in solitude and preparing for tomorrow's occasion.

* * *

"Why him?" Snape wondered, waking up from yet another nightmare after he managed to fall back asleep having scolded the brats partying in the adjoining room. "Out of all people, I could not imagine one more frightening and less bothersome?".  
In the dream, however, his blond friend did manage to be rather horrifying, with the hollow face as if from starvation, and glistening bloodshot eyes, shouting out the Killing Curse with his wand aimed straight at the young Potter. Severus's brain clearly enjoyed painting the expression of fear on the face so similar to the one he despised, since he remembered it with great detail. Yet even though he reminded him of that man, the sight itself evoke only his pity. He was aware he was dreaming, this time. After so much practice with horrible night visions, he had developed a skill of recognising what belonged to which reality, although on those rare occasions he was not able to and couldn't wake himself up, his mind would obligingly create some way to die, so that he could return to the actual land of living. "Come to think of it, over the years I have passed away far too many times for someone who is still alive" he mocked his own predicament. "Maybe I'm just fixated on the concept, like the muggle books on psychology would undoubtedly say" he snickered, albeit without joy.

\- Well, at least it's nothing a potion couldn't cure – he mumbled, getting up from the bed.  
He always considered a walk through the empty corridors of the castle in the night calming, if not sleep-inducing, and soon left the chamber, heading to the Tapestry Corridor. Upon passing the Slytherin Common Room he stopped for a while to listen intently for any signs that the premature and unauthorised celebration of Hallowe'en was still ongoing, but he heard nothing. Well, they had been scolded adequately, that was undisputable; maybe too strongly even, but he did not have the habit on sparing misbehaving little scoundrels the stress of being yelled at.

He strolled through the uninviting aisles of the dungeon until he reached the stairs and then climbed all the way to the first floor. The moon shone brightly through the high windows, which every now and then were being knocked on by the fallen leaves carried by the wind raging outside. He made the trip upstairs only to take a few small vials from his storehouse. When he entered and opened his double-secured cabinet inside, he chose the bottles containing the dark, violet liquid and put them in his pocket. The Draught, always coming in handy in the fight against his insomnia.

Due to numerous futile tries to defeat the condition for good, over the years he was forced to switch to more and more potent versions, forsaking the simple potion for dreamless sleep a long time ago. Sometimes, tired of spending time on trying to improve the basic recipe over and over again, he would simply resolve to taking five times the necessary intake, therefore he was used to running through the reserves pretty fast. Now he needed to replenish his private stocks, especially considering that the upcoming weeks, with the spectre of the Dark Lord's possible return looming over them would definitely call for medicinal support if he wanted to sleep at all. While collecting the vials, his gaze rested upon another one, containing the extremely powerful Veritaserum he had prepared not that long ago, using the ingredients he had bought at Borgin&Burkes. He regretted deeply that Albus would not give him his permission to put it to good use in interrogating Quirell. As happened more often than he felt comfortable acknowledging, he was completely unable to understand his reasoning and had to blindly trust that the old man was right. "He tells me so little and expects so much in return." he sighed on his way back to the dungeons.

The headmaster's logic truly escaped his own cognitive ability on numerous occasions and he did have confidence in the latter, while for the first, he was left only with hope and, at best, conviction, based more on emotions than practice, arguably, and therefore was never happy with that state of things. Take his decision about young Potter – why bother putting the boy under the care of his almost estranged family, exposing him to risks obvious to Severus, despite his limited knowledge about the adult version of Petunia, when the kid had a perfectly fine, although more distant, family in the wizarding world? Aneira was not maybe the most fit to raise a child, especially back then, but Lily's dreadful sister could not have been either. Not to mention the families he could have, given his fame, from the good-natured Weasleys to proud Malfoys, all those who had kids his age and even others, would surely offer to take care of the, in his opinion rather undeservingly, celebrated child.

The only thing standing between Potters' boy and an at least semi-happy childhood was Dumbledore's decision to keep him as far away from the magical world as possible, at least until he would reach the age to attend the school, of course. Snape's impression was that the scheme not only did not work out as intended, adding uncalled for mysteriousness to the boy's already far too eventful life and thus peaking the interest of every wizard and witch, who knew his name and origin, but did not (yet) know where he had spent the last eleven years and upon meeting him had the perfect chance to find out, it also caused damage to the youngling.

He, as a professor, had a perhaps not too humane but a very effective method of disciplining students, which was swatting the brats' heads or fingers with whatever he had on hand. Otherwise always calm and composed, one could almost say he indulged in those fiery reactions to insubordination. He did not, however, ever intend to actually cause harm to the children and for that reason was seriously distraught upon noticing how Potter would automatically flinch away from the hit. The only other kid in the class who had that, oh-so-telling instinct to dodge whatever object was swinging his way held firmly in Snape's grasp, was the young Malfoy, but aware of his father's habits concerning the use of his cane, he had expected that, which is not to say he did not find it disturbing. Potter, on the other hand, not only would cower, but also seemed taken aback that his Potions' Master's blow was never painful. That spoke for itself. And yet it did not convince Albus, when he tried to bring it to his attention after the last staff meeting. In fact, the old man essentially jeered him along with his concerns, pointing out that they sounded hypocritical coming from him - "a known supporter of outdated methods of maintaining order in the classroom" and "not a big admirer of misbehaved Potters".

The Draught, a whole vial of which he drank when returned to his chamber and unpacked the others into a mahogany cabinet that hung over the wall of his bedroom, finally started working and his thoughts became more and more sluggish with each minute as drowsiness overpowered him. His misgivings towards his "dearest friend and patron" slowly faded out leaving him with long anticipated nothingness, devoid of imaginations of any kind.

* * *

The days until the All Hallows' Evening went by so quickly, Elena barely noticed. It was somewhat justified, considering the amount of things she was involved in. Between studying to be the best, second best (or, as it was the case with Flying, third worst, student in her class) to the displeasure of both the muggle-hating part of her House and the ambitious part of Ravenclaw, she also had to spend her time figuring out new ways to outsmart Filch and Snape so that she could sometimes spend her evenings in the Ravenclaw Common Room, visiting Hagrid's hut to receive his help with healing Superstes' severely infected wound and of course, spending hours on hours on end on studying, she had little time to worry about the bullying which sadly, still persisted.

She did not have much trouble with finding friends outside her House, surprisingly, but her housemates were, from her point of view, split into two, equally disagreeable groups – the ones that would blatantly harass her and work to make her life harder and the ones that were merely ignoring that injustice and would occasionally talk to her in a friendly manner, only to laugh at her on the very next break, most likely behind her back. The second group she would call – the Two-Headed Snakes. Two things came to her from Slytherin – hate (mostly conveyed as insults, which one could get used to, as she was forced to realize) and the lack understanding and therefore – the sense of belonging, which all the others seemed to have acquired.

Therefore she did not feel much loyalty towards her House and was planning on secretly cheering on the Gryffindor in their upcoming match in two weeks, although now he was focused on the one happening the next Saturday, to which she would be dragged against her will by Felicia and Adalie alike had she not finally promised them to come. She was not a huge sports fan for sure, but it was a crucial part of the social life of school, it turned out, and even in her first year she had no chance of escaping it. Regarding her socializing, she was indeed doing fine, having her Ravenclaw classmates Mandy and Sue, the Gryffindor trio and of course Ada's little gang of friends. She was also additionally cared for under the wings of her cousin's Hufflepuff friend acting like the metaphorical mother hen and checking up on her at least once a week throughout the whole first year, which was to come in handy later on.

She snuck into the Ravenclaw Common Room regularly, having cracked the riddle that served as their password before the end of her second day at the school. "El" was welcome there by the fourth years and by the newly chosen Prefect, a tall, skinny, brown-haired boy in glasses named Michael, who Adalie recently began going out with (which was, actually, one upon the countless, often less gossipy and more scientific topics they were all speaking about inside the Ravenclaw Tower), so any Ravens who would normally object to such an act of rule-breaking kept their quiet. In fact, she had less problems convincing the legit residents of it not to tell on her than she had trying to persuade fellow Slytherins to share the password to her actual Common Room. Her own prefect was a dear friend of the blonde girl named Joan, who attacked her on the train on her first day, which did not help her case. Although, each time she struggled to do that, she either would receive it from one of the Two-Headed Snakes such as Tracey or even Draco, when he deemed her situation pitiful enough, or on the mysterious small pieces of paper with minuscule letters written in black, disappearing ink, and that issue would continue long after her first months at Hogwarts.

Academically she really was just on the heels of Hermione, alongside whom she spent a lot of time in the library. She had a hard deciding whether it was Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology or Potions that was her favourite subjects, but having checked how different people reacted to each of those statements, she simply shuffled her opinions depending on the interlocutor. Most of the time that technique was proving useful, not only regarding this particular matter but in general in juggling the various areas of her interests and social life.

Overall, she had less problems in adjusting to her new magical existence than she had anticipated and found that Hogwarts did, as a matter of fact, resemble a perfectly usual muggle boarding-school, with the occasional exception of jinxes being cast or things mysteriously catching fire and exploding.

Only after coming to the school did she realize how often both she and other students would lose command of their magic along with their temper and therefore finally connected the dots regarding a few events from her own past, such as that time a boy named Jacob, the only person from before who ever tried to pester her, in primary school broke his leg slipping on ice, that somehow made its way inside. It was winter back then indeed, so it did not raise anyone's suspicions. But that time she made Adalie's other cat unable to move when he tried to attack Ruffles when he was a pup? Auntie Aneira must have realised back then - it hit her as she promised to herself to ask her kin about such occurrences at the earliest opportunity. Nevertheless now she not only was a lot more attentive to any manifestations of witchcraft, she also had considerably more control over her own accidental magic, or so it looked like.

* * *

On that morning, of Hallowe'en, in Charms class she actually had the chance to prove herself in one of her most cherished subjects, which resulted in her being one of the four students who managed to master the levitating spell on their first lesson about it. "I have Natasha to thank for that" it crossed her mind, when she grinned gleefully upon hearing Hermione say to Ron, pointing to Elena:  
\- You see? That's how it's done.  
The Gryffindor smart aleck was not the only one who appreciated her performance, as professor Flitwick declared her the best in their group, along with the other curly-haired girl herself. That, in turn, earned her the attention of her housemate, Malfoy, who, not having succeeded at making the feather levitate himself, decided to ask for her help in learning the incantation during the study period n the afternoon, or rather – to request it. She agreed, gaining accusatory glares from both Harry and the Weasley.

She did not witness, however, the fight that occurred during that break between the clever girl and her big-mouthed ginger housemate, she only heard about it later from the girls in the bathroom, laughing at the know-it-all's misery. She waited for them to leave before she knocked timidly on the door to the only locked stall.  
\- Hermione? Are you okay? – she asked quietly.  
\- I'm fine – the girl answered surprisingly curtly.  
\- It's me, El. What happened?  
\- Nothing. I said I'm fine – the girl repeated irritably.  
\- Okay then. If you change your mind, I'll be in the study hall – she gave up, preparing to leave, when she was stopped by an unexpected question.  
\- With who? – the voice from inside the stall inquired, starting to get on Elena's nerves.  
\- With Draco. He wanted me to help him with Charms after today's class. Why are you asking?  
\- With Draco, huh? Doesn't it bother you, what he says about muggles?  
\- He doesn't when I'm around. And I know he can be irritating but he's rich and his dad is powerful, so he's useful. And I have to have someone on my side in the House anyways, and he's the only one I can stand apart from Tracey. But she's not as respected by the other Snakes...  
\- You sound like you're talking about objects, not people – Hermione noticed. – Do you speak of us the same way? "She's annoying but she's smart, so she can help me." – she asked, her voice becoming shaky at the end.  
\- I actually like you, so it's different. And I wanted to check on you, not be attacked – the Slytherin responded, struggling not to lose her temper - I've got enough of that in my House, for real.  
\- You say like me, but you wouldn't even defend me when you heard Pansy joke about me! – the accusation flew from behind the green door – You're more loyal to them than to us, even though they hate you! The boys were right not to trust you! And how are you speaking so calmly now? You're like a silver-tongued snake!  
\- I didn't do that because I know better than to jump straight into the lion's den like a dim-witted Gryffindor! Maybe I'm a snake, maybe you're right, but at least I'm not the one crying in the bathroom over some idiotic comment! – she finally managed to provoke an outburst of anger in Elena, who with those words left her alone to her sobbing, slamming the door to the girls' bathroom on her way out.

She returned to the Study Hall to join Malfoy and his goons in learning, or, in the case of Crabbe and Goyle, proving that they weren't born for an academic career. Despite herself, she was being as sweet as possible, even when they were wasting her precious time, demanding explanations of each step of charm-casting and serving back-handed compliments in return. "You're very talented, for a muggle." – Draco told her, only to try to talk her into doing his homework for him, instead of only providing hints as she insisted on doing. Clenching her fist under the table she fought hard not to at least kick him for that but she had sworn to herself, upon leaving that damned bathroom Merlin knows what tempted her to go to in the first place, that she would not say a word to any of her Gryffindor mates and that she would assure them in their poor judgment, only to find some way for them to pay for it later, so now she had to grit her teeth and try her best to truly get on with the Slytherins. "And who knows, it could actually pay off later" she still thought so, even though Hermione seemed to find that approach of hers cynical.

When, a few hours later, during the amazing feast that was served for their dinner, professor Quirell ran into the Great Hall and yelled out his warning, she was amongst the few who abstained from panicking. Standing with the Slytherins, she automatically nudged Draco to stop embarrassing himself by squealing. And after headmaster Dumbledore ordered them to leave, lead by their Prefects, she noticed the two Gryffindors running to the bathroom. Their black-skinned friend was nowhere to be seen.

"HERMIONE!" the name lit in her brain in neon red letters.  
\- What? – Malfoy asked pugnaciously, seeing the expression of fear painting on her face – I thought you weren't scared at all?  
\- I'm not – she replied and without waiting another second on pointless conversations took off after the boys as fast as she could. She managed to lose consciousness halfway through the distance and miraculously wasn't found by the troll, lying on the cold hard floor of the corridor. She regained it not long after, her first awake thought being "Gosh, I'll have to ask mum to buy me some more medicine. This can't keep happening all the time!". On the other hand, telling mum how often she was blacking out would doubtless send her into a spiral of worry, so Elena would have to find a way not to trigger her with that information. But that was a problem for later, she concluded, upon hearing footsteps approaching. She hid behind a column and the two teachers, absorbed by the noises that were coming from the bathroom, did not pay the least bit of attention to her. "Hermione!" the neon sign re-appeared when she heard a shriek and she followed them quickly, though this time more careful not to strain herself.

Severus Snape had just returned from the third floor, but even when limping his walking pace was rapid enough to see McGonagall's emerald robe as her and Albus disappeared behind the corner, heading to the west wing. On his way to there he noticed movement in a wall recess and immediately stopped in place. At first expecting some other creature that could have been unleashed into the halls, he was relieved to realise it was a short, black-clothed human. "A student. Well of course someone's trying to get themselves killed and imagining they are so sly they managed to hide from the professors. Probably a Gryffindor." he cavilled in his mind.

\- Reveal yourself at once! – he gnarled with ire, turning towards the small shape cowering in the shadows.  
The doll-faced little girl that emerged from the darkness seemed as shocked to have been caught as he was to recognize her. Her differently coloured eyes which had caught his attention earlier glistened with apprehension.  
\- Castel! What do you think you're doing here? Go back to the Common Room, immediately – he said in harsh barks, although without raising his voice.  
She figured it would be best to treat that as a rhetorical question as the answer was rather incriminating for her and she wasn't sure she would be able to make up a convincing lie for her excuse on the spot. Therefore she just did as ordered without saying a word.

On her way back to the dungeon she struggled to abstain from looking back, but didn't succeed to do so and broke her resolution twice, each time encountering the stern gaze of her Potions' Master.  
"I will deal with you later." he added to himself waiting for her to finally leave the corridor with growing irritation before he hurried to join the others.

Upon arriving to her Common Room, trying her best not to look defeated, she got swarmed with people hungry for news. Just as she had foreseen, she had to face the questions of her housemates who suddenly en masse decided that she was worth talking to only because she was the one who could shed some light on the "troll situation". Or so they hoped.  
\- Did you see it?  
\- Why did you even go there?  
\- Did it attack you?  
She was flooded with questions.

"Well, it's my moment to shine, isn't it?" she thought, trying to come up with a convincing fable that could shut them all up, while earning her the points of fame and friendship from Slytherins she so desperately needed. It was hard to concentrate with all the voices shouting over her, not counting the one in her head telling her that Hermione could be lying dead and cold on the bathroom's floor in this very second.

After she finally pulled herself together and with began giving her answers, they were barely audible in the ruckus all around her, so an unforeseen ally had to come to her aid:  
\- Shut up, everyone! She'll tell you everything, but you have to listen, not yell at each other! – Draco's high-pitched tone easily got them the control over the room and it fell silent.  
\- Now you can tell us – he took a sit on the dark green couch which was freed up for the two of them and fixed his cool greyish eyes on Elena's face, waiting for her to speak.  
"He wouldn't be himself if he didn't end up bossing me around at the end" she noted internally.

Outwardly however, she smiled at him kindly and started telling her story:  
\- So, I saw the two Gryffindor boys running somewhere and went after them – she forgot to mention that she blacked out shortly after, but that was an unimportant detail – Cause I wanted to see what those idiots were up to – she added to the joy of her public – And in the corridor I saw the troll coming out of the dungeon. It was huge, sluggish and carried a weapon of some sorts – "or so I suppose a troll would" – It didn't notice me, because I hid behind a column. Then I heard screaming in the west wing... – there the lie finished, the rest was sincere truth, although the lack of emotions on her face did not reflect that – and shortly after, before I even reached it myself, I saw the professors running towards, I think, the girls' bathroom and Snape caught me.  
\- Uuuu... – a grunt of disapproval mixed with sympathy swept across the room.  
\- He was limping, so perhaps there was more than one troll and he had fought it already – she took a wild guess, which was met with endorsement, cause after all the vulture-like man was one of their own – And I don't know, I guess I might get in trouble, but definitely not in worse than the Gryffons, so that's great.

Since that was the end of her riveting story-telling debut, the Snakes, satisfied with the account and with newly developed respect for the muggle-born petite investigator that Elena was. Her blond friend, however, did not leave her side and, failing miserably to feign indifference, demanded to be told more. He was especially fixated on the identity of the Gryffindors, whose faces he wasn't able to see when they were leaving the Great Hall, so she elaborated:  
\- Well, yes it was Potter and Weasley. I suppose their girl-friend was with them too – she invented another falsehood, the name she called Hermione tasting bitterly on her tongue.  
Draco, she noticed, seemed concerned, but he soon collected himself when his goons approached and thanked her for the information adding, with a smirk:  
\- I wouldn't be surprised if they all got smashed to pieces by that troll.  
\- Oh yeah, me neither. They sorta deserve it for being dumb enough to be found by it – she returned the ironic smile of silent understanding; more of it than either of them was aware of at that moment.

As Elena would later recall – that was the very day all sorts of problems at Hogwarts started for her.

* * *

The next morning their first and only period, as every Friday, was the double Potions. Elena might have spent the last evening trying to discretely find out what happened in the 1st floor bathroom and ensure that the whole trio was okay, but she still wasn't speaking to Hermione, so she ostentatiously didn't greet her on the way to her seat in the back of the class as she usually would. The curly haired know-it-all had clearly worked things out with the two boys she loved the company of so much and now they were all laughing in the first row. Neville was the only one of the Gryffons she knew well who decided to say hi, but his timing was somewhat flawed since in that exact moment Malfoy decided to approach her, putting his hand on her nape and therefore she completely ignored the fall guy and focused on her new blond friend.

The lesson went by as usual. Snape, to her relief, did not seem mad at her the least bit and she even got five points for her house for reminding the class what the main ingredients of the Antidote to Common Poisons were. She remained in that state of blissful ignorance until the lesson ended, when, after dismissing them, the professor's bitter voice stopped her just when she was about to leave the laboratory:  
\- Castel, not so fast. I need to talk to you.  
Halted in her steps, she took the position beside his desk by his desk, fighting with herself not to keep nervously biting her lip. Meanwhile he took a seat so that his eyes were on approximately the same level as hers and patiently waited for everyone to leave before he began to speak.

\- Ms. Castel, I hope that you are aware of the enormous danger you had put yourself into yesterday. And of the stupidity of your actions – he paused, waiting for confirmation until she nodded remorsefully - But in case you have not yet grasped the severity of the situation, you will have plenty of time to contemplate that during the four hours of detention I am hereby assigning you.

\- So... I won't get house points taken? – she lost control of herself and asked naively, struck by surprise.

Severus was well aware that he could not punish her with negative points, less he really wanted to see the girl clawed by the more savage of older Slytherins. And, with shock, he realised he did not. As a matter of fact, he felt a strange sense of protectiveness over this brat from the very beginning, when he volunteered to transport her from the Great Hall, lifting her weightless inert body off the ground without being asked to do so and thus earning a quizzing look from Albus. That strange sentiment only grew overtime, though it would be hard to notice, considering his rough demeanour and the favouritism he treated all the students from his house with.

He did, however, write those cards instructing the girl how to find and in the following weeks - enter her Common Room, correctly convinced she would struggle to befriend the prefects, both known to be children of pureblood supremacists he knew from his years at Hogwarts. With her inquisitiveness, evident during Potions classes and now further proven by her perilous stunt, he was surprised she had not yet figured out that was his handwriting. Well, at least soon, it seemed, he would be released from that obligation he had imposed on himself, since she was starting to befriend the Malfoy's son. Not the best choice of company for a muggle-born perhaps, but he did wish her luck, once again astoundingly to his own mind.

Had his emotionalism, paralleled only with the exhausting mix of hatred and paternal affection he held for his lost love's son, anything to do with how much she resembled an offspring one could imagine him having with Lily, had their fate turned out differently?

The complexion, as freakishly pale as his own, speckled with freckles like hers. His hair colour, her hair structure; well, maybe slightly curlier. Even her nose looked like Lily's. But the main thing that was throwing him off each time she was raising her hand in class, differing from fellow students in that she always held eye-contact while saying her answer, was the combination between her voice and the eyes. Never shifty nor hiding behind the black eyelashes out of shyness, fixed on the interlocutor's face challengingly, even in this moment when she was expecting the rest of the reprimand with a grin to complement their confident gaze, despite the barely observable nervous twitching of her lower lip.

The uncommon variant of heterochromia she had was truly captivating to anyone, sticking out prominently in the alabaster of her skin. The right iris was more prominent, black like onyx, now glistening like ice in the flickering light of the dungeon; the left one was emerald green, kinder and surrounded with seemingly darker lashes, due to the contrast. His and Lily's eyes. Their voices combined as well, somehow, with her alto, sometimes like in this very case revealing itself with emotions through the veil of the balanced tone, restrained almost, so uncommonly for her age.

"I am being ludicrous" he castigated himself. "She's very much not that, nor does she resemble her the least bit. I cannot even be certain she is related to her at all." Annoyed at the figments of his own imagination, after a pause a tad too long, he reverted to chiding her:  
\- If you insist they still might be. I am sure the reaction of your housemates when they get that news will be enthralling – he watched the smile being wiped off her pretty face with something akin to satisfaction - Since you have already earned yourself the reputation of quite a gossiper, I suppose you would be happy to share it with them – the corners of his mouth raised viciously, his cold black eyes prickling her skin.

She fought the redness creeping into her cheeks and took a deep breath, suddenly finding she felt weirdly calm, even the slight trembling of her fingers had stopped. The angelic smile returned on her face before she took her turn to speak.  
\- I don't know what you've heard professor, but I only tell riveting tales of heroes indeed – she replied, having realized that the fable she had told yesterday must have reached his ears – And no, I would rather avoid losing points indeed. So, when's the detention? I'd rather it weren't on Saturday because of the match though – she was almost excited, for it was the first punishment of that kind in her career; she hadn't even read the paragraph of school regulations regarding such sanctions, not having foreseen that she would get in trouble.

The professor deemed her response far too cocky for his own liking and therefore again had to resort to mitigating her harshly.  
\- In your gladness for my leniency regarding your transgression, you seem to be forgetting your place, Ms. Castel – his eyes darkened even more, with disapproval - It is not your decision to make, nor was I actually asking your opinion on the matter. You will be informed about the exact hours in two days time, by the prefect of your House. Now you are dismissed – he gestured towards the door - And if I were you I would aim to be more rule-abiding, because next time you can bet I will not be so forbearing – he added the warning, watching her leave.


	5. Muggle-born hussy

Professor Snape kept his word and on Sunday morning Lianne, the Slytherin Prefect, told the first year student, with ill-concealed epicaricacy, that she would have the detention partly with Hagrid on Tuesday afternoon and partly with Madame Hooch on Saturday morning. Elena was rather pleased with both the timing and the choice of the school's staff who would be overseeing her punishment. "Hagrid is too nice for it to be bad and witch Hooch it's preparing the stadium, probably. Well, how bad could it be? And at least I'll be able to see the match." She was not mistaken, although during the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match she almost started nodding off on Adalie's arm, having woken up at 5 a.m. She had to explain herself thoroughly for it, because her Raven and Huffle friends simply assumed she was bored out of her mind, but other than that, did not suffer that much. Not that cleaning the cages of Hogwarts' owls or painting the lines on the grass of the stadium without magic was fun, of course, but "It could have been worse." as she concluded and indeed, she was supposed to find out that she was right once again.

Despite really aching to make up with Hermione, Elena kept her promise to herself and refused to talk to any of the trio. Not that they were particularly driven to prompt her to break it, maybe she was the one desperately looking for friends after all. And it wasn't that hard after the first week. Actually, it came pretty naturally – the more time she was spending with Slytherins, the less approachable she seemed in other Houses members' eyes.  
And lately, she was definitely playing her part, that being "an authentic Snake". Ever since her stunt regarding the troll, she was a little bit more respected by her peers and other housemates even, although Pansy still just couldn't stand her and mimicked the older girls in calling her names every time she was passing through the Common Room. Come to think of it, the fact that she finally got sort of accepted into Draco's little gang could have been what was irking that pug-faced girl. "Or maybe I'm imagining things and it's just the blood thing." she concluded.

The upcoming Quidditch match was something she hadn't expected to be looking forward to, but, as it turned out last time, the game wasn't as boring as muggle-sports such as football, and the fact that this Saturday it was her House as she reluctantly started calling Slytherin in her mind against those damned Gryffons, Harry being on the field even, added greatly to the thrill of it.

On the day of the match she woke up early, possibly because her body remembered the hour from last week, but didn't get up for now, laying in her bed and reading the Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. She was five chapters ahead of their lessons already, but intended to make it ten by the end of the semester. The presentations of professor McGonagall's skills that would take place every now and then during the classes, were enough to keep Elena motivated through the boring descriptions of correct wand movements. At exactly 7:30 her "bloody raucous raven" as he was called by some of the Slytherin girls, would make a bit of noise, it working as an alarm for her and a bell calling for food for him. She got out of the bed, took out the seeds she kept in her closet and fed Superstes. She wasn't sure whether that was a good idea, but she decided to take him to the match with her this time, just to try it out.  
\- If you find it too stressful, you can just fly back anytime – she told him, while putting a cosy black sweater over her robes. She had been switching between her muggle clothes and the couple of robes her aunt sent her over the last two months as an addition to the school uniform. Wearing those she attracted less attention to herself than in t-shirts, skirts and hoodies, but she wasn't going to risk getting cold just for the sake of avoiding some teasing.

An hour later, having finished their breakfast, the Slytherins took to the stadium, somehow coordinated enough to leave the castle as a huge group, with only a few marauders walking behind. In the stalls above the Quidditch Stadium, Elena was this time seated amongst her own housemates, with Draco on her left and Theodore on the right.  
Her blond friend was a huge fan of the sport, which she had no way of avoiding to realise, considering how he had been constantly babbling about it throughout last week. Now, after Madame Hooch appeared and when the teams gathered before her, Hermione's brown-skinned friend amongst them, she heard him say:  
\- Look El, there's the oh-so-famous Potter. Wonder how long until he falls from his broom...  
If she weren't at odds with that black-haired boy, she would have been worried upon seeing so many older players surrounding him, some of them almost two heads taller than him.  
\- Yeah, all of ours could throw him of his broom with one push. That can't be good for him – she noted, laughing along with him.

When the game started however, it wasn't long until she started secretly rooting for Gryffindor. The practices used by Slytherins really consisted of pushing other players down to fall and break a bone. And that, in her opinion, made for a less interesting game than the one she witness from half-shut eyes last week. Ravens and Huffles were able to play fair, thus making Quidditch a show of skill, not a ruthless fight interlaced with the red-dressed players hitting the ground every few minutes in the second part of the match, after the Snake captain noticed how bad they were doing at first.

Every now and then Draco would make a comment, clearly satisfied with her wordless smiling and nodding in lieu of responses. He was far more knowledgeable about the rules and history of Quidditch than she was and therefore she listened attentively, although clearly her views on how their team should achieve victory differed from his, because he cheered loudly whenever a Gryffon was brutally hit.  
When Harry's broom started acting up she was horrified, barely able to feign sharing the joy of her companion, who grinned with satisfaction and whispered:  
\- That's what you get, for being such a star, Potter. Nimbus 2000... meters to the ground.  
He was busy chuckling at his own joke with his goons, who, although likely unable to understand it, had already developed the habit of mimicking his actions, when she noticed Hermione had disappeared from the stall before them and then after a short while the boy was able to regain control of the broom.

Soon, El's attention was back at Potter when he and the Slytherin seeker threw themselves in pursue of the Golden Snitch. After the boy landed on the ground and spit out the ball, she heard a distressed sigh sweeping through the Slytherin stall. She joined in, as usual not wanting to stand out too much. Draco hid his face in shame at the defeat, but then said, angrily.  
\- Well, next year I'll be a seeker too, and then we will see! – he said before they all started getting up.

* * *

While departing the stadium she noticed Adalie and her friends, although her cousin was too focused on flirting to pay her any mind. However, her Hufflepuff bestie waved at Elena, beckoning her to join them, so she excused herself from the group of bummed out Slytherins and approached the fourth years. After the match she was planning to go to Hagrid's hut for the last batch of feather-growth ointment for Superstes' little leg and so she said upon being asked what she had in mind by Felicia, who decided to accompany her.

\- I noticed you weren't with your Gryffindor friends in the stands... Despite how you seemed upset at Snakes' violent rule-breaking and, I'm pretty sure, weren't cheering for them wholeheartedly. I've noticed something was off last week, but I thought it would be over by now. So what happened? – she inquired, eyeing her with concern after they had left the crowded area around the arena.  
Elena resisted the urge to become defensive or mean, knowing that the question was asked with the kindest of intentions.  
\- Me and Hermione fell out. And until she apologises, I'm not talking to any of them. And "friends" is a big word.  
\- Oh my! If you want to talk about it you can come to me anytime, you know that, right?

The younger girl nodded in response and she continued:  
\- And I know you don't need my advice, but I don't think you should write them off like that, give them a second chance – catching the iron glance of her obsidian eye she immediately backed off – Provided they come to apologise to you, of course.  
Elena's tone was flat when she responded, just before she knocked on the door to the hut.  
\- You've got my word I'll forgive them. If they say they're sorry.

On their way back to the castle they talked about school-gossip that Felicia had heard, such as Dumbledore's idea to make Hagrid more than a Keeper in the following years, and El's raven's wellbeing, so she did not have to elaborate about any other terrifyingly personal issues. Upon reaching the building they parted ways, having their Common Rooms at exactly opposite corners of the basement and Elena sped up, trying to train herself to be a little more resistant to exhaustion.

When she reached the living quarters of the dungeon, surprisingly not dizzy, she went inside, this time knowing that the password was the simple and very inaccurate phrase: "Slythers winners". She entered the room unnoticed in the commotion of sad and enraged voices of her housemates discussing the defeat Slytherin suffered and headed to her room, but on her way encountered an enraging sight. On the dark-green leather couch, besides a boy with unmistakable whitish-blond hair sat Pansy Parkinson in her snotty flesh.

They seemed to get on well, the short-haired girl now smiling slyly as if in reaction to some scheme Draco told her about, and her blood boiled. She wasn't jealous or something - although a tad bit possessive, she was a firm believer in people being allowed to have a vast circle of friends with differing characters, just as firm as in the saying that enemy of one's companion should be one's enemy. "It seems, however, that despite the Sorting Hat's high opinion of this house, some Snakes don't know what loyalty means." she thought, dismissing the reflection on how hypocritical that statement was, considering her own behaviour since the quarrel with Hermione was as far from allegiant to her Gryffindor friend as could be. On the other hand, she and Draco hadn't fallen out. "Not yet, at least."

Elena realised they hadn't spotted her, so she moved behind them to a bookcase beside which she would be able to listen in, figuring that she didn't have to be fair either. She pretended to be very consumed by a random book about research considering artefacts associated with Merlin, simultaneously trying to pick their voices out in the noise. To her shock, she wasn't delusional in expecting them to mention her somewhere in their conversation.

\- Why do you hang out with that mudblood so much though? Wouldn't your father disapprove of that? – she heard Pansy's voice asking.  
\- Who? – he sounded as if he was on the verge of telling her off for using that slur, but then chickened out.  
\- Motley-eyes, of course. How many mudbloods are you friends with? – her words attacked him – She's been following you around since the begging of the semester, Potions and all. And today I saw you watching the match together – she explained, with a smirk Elena couldn't see.  
\- Well she's just nice, I guess. And not half bad at magic – "He probably thinks he is defending me right now" their subject noted bitterly as she heard him add – for a muggle-born.  
\- She should have never been sorted into our house if you ask me - Pansy expressed her dissatisfaction with a moan and then asked, expectantly - And what do you think of it?

It wasn't hard to figure out what the girl wanted him to say to assert her in the belief that he was indeed "one of them", despite his questionable choices of companions, and even if he had some kind of principle regarding not calling his friends racial slurs, Elena guessed he would break it and was soon proven right, although that small victory tasted incredibly sour. As sour as the insult did on Draco's tongue, even though he couldn't be conscious of the fact that its addressee was standing right behind them and heard it loud and clear.  
\- Well, she's not dumb, but she's still a mudblood. And my dad always says they should be kept as far away from Hogwarts as possible – he skipped the part of his thoughts where he started wondering whether his father was right about muggle-borns after he got to know one.  
And he shouldn't have, because while it would definitely prove enraging to Pansy, it would have skipped all the three of them a whole lot of trouble with Snape, as in the very moment he was finished the doll-faced girl emerged from the shadows with her wand at the ready and now burst out in anger, fighting the tears gathering in her two-coloured eyes.

\- You, you big freaking idiot! – she shouted at Draco.  
Her anger focused on him, and she completely ignored the comment Pansy made about her "comically long wand" or how, upon hearing her high, girly voice yelling, almost the whole room went quiet and turned their heads towards the three of them to watch the scene unfold.  
\- Hadn't your father maybe told you in his wisdom, that you shouldn't call your friends "mudbloods"?!  
\- You're under the false impression... – Pansy started, but she didn't let her finish, in a flash pointing he wand to her and lifting the girl into the air with the levitating spell until she was able to hang her by the hood of her school uniform on the black-silver candelabra above them.  
Her patience for that girl had run short pretty quickly, so she devised a way to get her out of her sight. Quite literally so, since especially she would have to perk her head up high to see how funny was her face looking, red from anger, with the now ruffled fringe covering her eyes.  
\- I wasn't asking you, pureblood – Elena said with the same contempt she heard her speaking about muggles before – So, Draco, you think I shouldn't be here, huh? – she addressed the boy again, impervious to the insults being thrown at her from under the ceiling.  
\- I... I didn't say that... – he tried to explain himself.  
\- No, you only quoted your dad, I don't care - she cut in harshly, although now in a very calm voice, threateningly calm – Muggles shouldn't be taught at Hogwarts. Oh, sorry... "mudbloods" – she looked around the room, waiting for anyone to agree with her, but they all remained silent, finding the sight of this little girl enraged absolutely amusing, yet not wanting to get in her way. – Therefore you sure won't mind that I'll take the notebook I used to help you with homework in and rip those few pages, right, Draco? It's enchanted to have countless if I remember correctly, so I'm sure you won't miss them.

He drew back instantly, huddling a little so that the black leather cover of the notebook sticking out from his pocket wouldn't be visible. Too bad she had already noticed it.  
\- Oh come on now, you coward. I know you have it on you – she remarked, her eyes piercing into him viciously – I'll just rip them off and we'll be even, I'll give it back, I swear.  
\- No! – he had already collected himself from the shock bordering on panic that her sudden appearance and terrifying temper tantrum induced and protested fiercely, drawing his own wand.  
She was faster than him, exclaiming "Accio" and making the object fly to her hand directly.  
\- Give it back! – he leaped towards her, trying to grab it, but she dodged him with ease and cast another charm before he had the time to react.  
\- Incendio! – the book was immediately engulfed in flames, but she waited for it to start turning into ash before she released it from her burned fingers, careful not to throw it on the emerald carpet – That's what you get for not listening to me. And for calling me a mudblood! – she told Draco, now himself seemingly on the verge of crying and stormed off to the girls' bedroom.

Before she could reach the door however, she heard a voice coming from behind.  
\- Castel. Well of course it would be you – professor Snape sounded exhausted.  
She froze in place and then slowly turned around to face him, cursing the snitch, who must have run to the office to notify the adult, under her breath.  
\- What are you mumbling there, Castel? An explanation, perhaps? – his steady voice inquired with rancour while he gently got Pansy, still dangling above, down to the ground, without so much as a verbal spell, still not having even crossed the doorstep to the Common Room.  
\- Never mind – he added upon observing that she was about to speak, undoubtedly planning to respond with an excuse – Malfoy, Castel come with me. And someone escort that girl to the hospital wing to get her some draught of peace – he ordered, seeing as Pansy was now speechless and visibly in shock.

* * *

The two obeyed without protests and followed him silently to his office, which, despite sharing a wall with the Slytherin quarters, had its entrance in a different part of the dungeon, forcing them to wander through the dark corridors in the fast pace foisted by the tall professor.  
When they arrived at the door, Snape's intuition forced him to turn around before he opened it, just in time to prevent Elena's skull being shattered against the cold stone floor.

\- For Merlin's sake – he grumbled silently while catching her and then laying her down carefully.  
Louder he told the stunned Malfoy's boy, standing right beside him, motionlessly:  
\- Quit pondering over there and get me a vial of a dark red potion from the cupboard. Second shelf counting from the bottom – he instructed him, opening both the door and the storage cabinet with the wand held in his left hand, while the right one was still under the girl's neck.

Draco, paler than usual, compliantly went inside the dark room and moved the curtains from over the windows to let some light in before he went to rummage through the potion storage kept in the small mahogany closet, hanging on the wall above the desk. He had no problem finding the potion and soon returned holding the vial  
containing a crimson liquid, syrupy in consistency.  
\- Close your eyes - he cautioned the boy before waking the unconscious girl with a Reviving Spell, causing an explosion of blinding light to fill the corridor.

Her eyelids lifted and she blinked a few times before asking him, strangely, very much alert:  
\- Oh no, have I blacked out again, professor? – she tried to get up, but he stalled her from doing so and offered her the bottle.  
\- What is it? – she wanted to know, actual interest painted on her face.  
\- Blood replenishing potion. Are you an anaemic? – he answered with a question of his own, wanting to confirm his assumptions before he gave her the medication.  
She nodded in lieu of a response and then took the vial from his hands to drink it whole in one gulp, reckoning it could indeed help her poor blood cells.  
\- Thank you, professor Snape – he heard her say, to his consternation noticing a rather happy grateful smile appearing on her face.  
She really had the still bloody wound on his leg from that cursed Hagrid's beast to thank, as well as his reluctance to rely on Poppy's mixtures. He much preferred to be in control of what medicine he was ingesting and therefore filled his cabinet with necessities, in this case it being that particular potion. And sleeping draught, obviously. Besides, he was not used to people, especially students just about to be reprimanded, overlooking his harshness and intimidating disposition in such a way.

Soon after she was finished, her cheeks gained some colour, rarely seen in them.  
\- Now get up – his demeanour regained its austerity the moment any danger was averted – You are not wasting any more of my time – with that sentence he marched inside the office and took his seat behind the desk, waiting for the two kids to enter.  
When they did, he started with wordlessly closing the doors and drawing the curtains with his wand. Next he lit the two small candles, positioned in the holders on both sides of the desk.  
Their faint flames had hardly any chance at lightening up the room, but he preferred it that way.  
\- Congratulations, Ms. Castel. You managed to last less than two weeks without causing trouble – he stated in place of a welcome. – And now, that none of you is fainting, I would be delighted to hear a detailed account of the events in the Common Room, which both of you had been involved in.

They two kids stood silently in front of him, exchanging hostile looks and trying to wordlessly come to an agreement on which one should begin. The girl was trying to hide her eagerness to tell him the story, but her foot tapping betrayed her. He chose to break the stalemate for them, making Elena wait for her turn to speak.  
\- Draco, you go first – "For I am afraid that your frail-bodied companion will outtalk you in a single breath" he added internally.

\- Well... I and Pansy, we were talking and then El appeared out of thin air – he noticed the girl's expression tightening on the abbreviation. – She was furious at me for something. And Pansy interfered, so she lifted her with Wingardium Leviosa – the boy was clearly impressed by her stunt, but it didn't escape Snape's notice that he purposefully omitted what was the reason of her anger. – Then she took my notebook, my leather-covered infinite pages notebook my dad gave me – only now did he remember to feel resentful, judging by his tone – and she burnt it.  
\- Once again with a spell? – Snape asked, now eying the girl with rapt attention.  
It seemed that she Potions wasn't her only forte. She nodded, reciprocating his gaze. Draco provided an answer as well:  
\- Yes, with the incantation of Incendio, professor.  
"That ridiculously long wand of hers has many specialties, I gather. And a fire spell... Well that explains the smell. And I had thought it was the sixth years smoking again." he analyzed.

Now it was Elena's turn to speak and he had figured a gesture was enough to encourage her to do so, seeing as she was on the verge of cutting in for the whole time of Malfoy telling his version probably intending to fill him in on the things the blond boy had omitted. Snape's presumption indeed was correct, as at the slight swing of his hand she began:  
\- So, I was coming back from the stadium with my friend and when I entered the Common, everyone was so engulfed in our failure at the match, that those two didn't even notice me at all. And Draco forgot to mention, but they weren't speaking about the weather or something, but about me. He used the slur, called me a "mudblood" that is, and a "muggle undeserving of magical education" so I thought I should teach him a lesson – she spoke unhurriedly, as if she was telling an anecdote, not a potentially incriminating account of her very much disallowed actions.  
– At first I just wanted his notebook to rip out the pages I helped him with homework on, figuring he doesn't need a mudblood to do that – her eyes, previously fixed on the professor's, now drifted to the boy, hurt reflected in them - but he didn't give it willingly, so what were I to do? – she asked earnestly – Let myself be humiliated like that? So I burned it.

Upon mentioning that, her hand twitched weirdly, catching his attention.  
"Burns, indubitably. Of course." he spotted, but for now decided not to mention it.  
\- I believe you might have omitted one crucial detail. That is – he pointed out, marking his words with a pause – the process that lead to Ms. Parkinson dangling from the candelabra.  
The short girl before him chuckled at the picture that sentence must have brought up in her mind. "How comes the boy barely dares to breathe in my presence, despite me having been nothing but nice to him and she is grinning joyfully?" he asked himself. That contrast between the two was much less conspicuous in class than it seemed in that moment.  
\- This is not a laughing matter, Ms. Castel. You have assaulted a student and might face suspension for it. Especially since you are showing so little remorse for your actions – he threatened her aloud, causing a very contrite look to be sent his way.  
"If only it were as sincere as it appears..." he thought. "Although in all honesty"- he admitted reluctantly - "that was absurdly humorous indeed."  
\- Well, how long are you planning to keep it to yourself for, Ms. Castel? We don't have all day – Snape rushed her.  
"And besides, little Malfoy over there seems like he wants to return to the Quidditch-themed chitchat undoubtedly still taking place in the Common Room as fast as possible, so I see no reason not to let him do that."

\- Hm... – the girl cleared her throat and began speaking again – She's been teasing me before a lot and she too called me a mudblood. But mostly she spoke unasked and that annoyed me, because I hate her guts – she explained with disarming sincerity, shrugging at the end.  
He had a remark about her own outspokenness on the tip of his tongue, but first decided to dismiss the boy, who seemed not only rather uncomfortable but also very restless, looking around every once in a while as if for a clock.

\- Would you confirm this version, Mr. Malfoy? Including the part reporting the insults thrown and the bullying Ms. Parkinson was taking part in? – he inquired, having found the girl's explanation more an account of the struggle, that was obvious she would have come up against in Slytherin, than she wanted it to be, considering her cool and self-assured tone.  
\- Yes, professor Snape – he heard the somewhat constrained confirmation.  
\- Then all three of you will face detention this Friday. With myself – he nipped the boy's attempt at protesting with one stern glance. – And for you, Ms. Castel, that's every Friday and Monday until the end of the semester, either in the Potion's lab or wherever else Filch will find you work to do.

She received it without complaints, possibly overjoyed at how she once again avoided losing house-points, judging by the corners of her lips once again raised, although this time in a more subdued manner, not as aggravating for the professor. Luckily for her, since he was really on the verge on taking those, remembering how he had earlier promised the punishment to be more severe upon her second offence, the girl definitely was a fast-learner.

\- I will also expect all of you to reconcile within a week's time, taking into account that there should be no bickering within the House. And keep in mind that no changes in lab partnerships are allowed – now both students looked as if they were very much eager to object, but on seeing his face expression neither of them dared to speak. – Any questions, Mr. Malfoy? – Severus asked at the end, causing the boy's cheeks to explode with pink as he shook his head.  
\- Then you can leave now – the man allowed him, making Draco smile, although rather faintly, while he thanked him and took his leave. – Just him, for now – he added towards Elena, seeing as she was keen to use up the occasion to make her exit as well.

After they were left alone, he addressed her softly, though with the signature bitterness:  
\- Are you that fond of the comforts of the hospital wing, Ms. Castel, or is that just pure foolishness on your side?  
She blinked, questioningly.  
\- The hand. Have it treated before you come to the laboratory or you'll contaminate the ingredients – Snape ordered. - And you should also possibly be taking the blood potion regularly, in your condition. I don't want to be the one explaining to your parents how you've lost half a skull and were found six hours later in the dungeon, at best severely handicapped. Magic is not able to fix everything, for your information. I finds more application at preventing disasters than at dealing with their aftermath.

When he was done schooling her, he decided to warn her about one more thing, himself not too ecstatic about the reaction the event itself and his decisions from today would inevitably provoke from the parents of the other two, pureblood, kids.  
\- D'ailleurs, unless your plan is to collect all the Sacred 28 families as your enemies and consequently be expelled from Hogwarts by the time you're twelve, I would suggest you tried attracting less attention to yourself next time, Ms. Castel, seeing that keeping yourself out of trouble proves impossible to you – he gave her the useful advice.  
\- Thank you, professor Snape – eyes stuck in his again, innocent beam beneath them – Can I go now?  
\- Yes, you are dismissed – he saw her to the door.  
"Hopefully this time you'll manage to listen to what you have been told."

* * *

Prominent cheekbones, jaw cleanly shaven, tan skin shining in the light of the electrical lamps hanging on both sides of the mirror. Thin lips, pearly white teeth revealed in a haughty smirk, contrasting with the quite sincere impression that face gave. The eyes a warm shade of blue resembling river water and so different from his own, surrounded by a thick veil of dark lashes. Long, dark brown wavy hair let loose, resting on his arms and nape. He admired the stolen appearance in the mirror for the last time before he left the room, hastily went through the white corridor and the staircase and finally got into the black jaguar waiting in front of the entrance to the hotel.

Soon after taking his seat behind the chauffer he noticed his features starting to change back into their original shapes. The driver took that with complete stoicism, having his memory completely wiped so many times it was almost surprising he still remembered how to start a car. Lucius still had the rest of the blue, frothing potion in his pocket, but he wasn't planning on using it up anytime soon. It cost too much time and effort to make to be squandered carelessly, especially if the looks were as to his liking as in this case. Now that he was forced to resign from the services of the reliable old Borgin those four weeks ago, he had to be even more frugal, not entirely sure his house elves would be able to provide what he needed and he would rather avoid having to ask for it and consequently brainwash another person on his muggle-business staff, not out of guilt or compassion, but because it was simply too demanding in terms of magic. Accurately cast memory-charm, even if it were the obliviating one, was supposed to be undetectable even to people closest to the victim and he was taught that trick at the Ministry years ago, but it required maximum focus and usually also familiarising oneself with the memories surrounding those that were about to be erased. And he found little pleasure in looking inside the limited minds of muggles, hence why his driver was a lonely man with no family to ask for him, whom Lucius "rescued" good few years ago and ever since then was relying on his skills whenever he needed or wanted to, showing little to no regard for the man's well-being.

Luxury and convenience often won over efficiency with Lucius. He could, theoretically be apparating from one place to another through the whole journey, arriving at the manor before nightfall, exhausted by the excess magic, or as he was planning to do, spend his three hours journey on reading the newspapers, letters and business magazines and only use magical means of transport after having reached the Channel. Both planes and limousines weren't the most horrible muggle inventions, he thought so.

The journey went smoothly, the silence all of his servants were always afraid to disturb, enabling him to focus. His peace was disturbed, however, about 10 miles from the destination, when he opened a black envelope, addressed to "Dear Mr. Malfoy" in silver ink. Above there was the writer's name, he read with surprise: Fabrice Parkinson. "What could possibly have caused this?" he wondered. He had neither affinity nor business with the Parkinson family, magical or of any other sort, not one he knew of, at least. Although due to being in the Sacred Twenty Eight they had relations, of course, those weren't particularly close, considering how he had to be careful not to openly associate himself with pureblood supremacists, ever since he averted landing in Azkaban for a somewhat similar offence. He took out the letter and scanned it with curiosity.

"My son? That cannot be, not under Severus' rule in the Slytherin, I am sure." he raised his eyebrows, startled upon reading about the events Fabrice was so outraged about. Ever since the war his relationship with that Hogwarts' professor turned into a slightly childish antagonism ranging from friendly through polite to outwardly hostile, like the last time they run into each other, but he knew that their respect was mutual and that it persisted nevertheless.. As such, Lucius really was convinced his son would be under the care of the professor himself, just like he stated that day at the station and now that belief was swayed by something as trivial as a letter. "A muggle-born hussy in Slytherin, daring to raise her wand against real wizards and somehow earning them a punishment as well...". It seemed ridiculous to him. He got the information off the record, as he judged by the lack of references to his position on the Board of Governors, but he very much intended to present that issue during the next meeting.

Another thing that left him absolutely puzzled was how he had not received any report about the matter from his son, whose weekly accounts of his time at Hogwarts were usually quite comprehensive, bordering on exhaustive, in his own opinion. Narcissa, however, seemed overjoyed at that written blabber, so he refrained from reprimanding him for it. Yet somehow Draco didn't mention last week's occurrence nor the detention itself, which left Lucius wondering whether it had happened at all. "No, it mustn't be" he concluded, making the decision to personally talk this over with professor Snape first and putting the parchment back into the envelope.

Then, having realised that they reached Calais, he told the driver to park on the side of the street. It was already dark outside, the lights of the city overshadowed by the ones of the numerous cars waiting to be let through. Contemptuously pitying the muggles waiting in the queue, he put on his gloves, took the letters and clutched his hand on the silver head of his cane before he apparated, having dismissed his chauffer with an order to get to London as a goodbye.


	6. Trust issues

Harry was still on the fence about whether they should apologise to Elena. "They", because clearly, the Slytherin regarded them as a trio and therefore her quarrel with Hermione transferred to being mad at the two boys as well. Not that they minded it that much, although Ron was terrified of her and for some reason expected her to seek vengeance. Harry couldn't understand why, because while he himself was somewhat suspicious of her, he found her harmless. She was small, very calm, had a faint a voice and compared to Hermione, for example, not a dominating presence. "Well, maybe Ron is just afraid of all girls" he joked in his mind. It would make sense, considering how many brothers he had.

He did, however, share the redhead's opinion that they should be wary of her and that befriending her wasn't the best idea. She was friends with Draco, as they noticed lately, and the two of them couldn't be more blatantly admired by Snape in the Potions' class. The same Snape, who tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Fluffy's guard. Ron said something along the lines that nothing good could come out of Slytherin, and Harry's impression so far was proving that to be true. As such, he stood for his friend's point that the apology was neither necessary, nor a good idea, but, it turned out, they didn't have a say in it.

When Hermione came to them with her idea, they were playing chess in the Common Room and asked her to let them finish, but she said it couldn't wait and, with a huge grin on her face said:  
\- We're going to go to say sorry to Elena. I'll fill you in on it on the way.  
Then, deaf to their protests, she took them by the sleeves of their robes and basically dragged them with her towards the library.

"How does she know where to look for Elena if they're not speaking to each other?" he wondered, but then it hit him:"They both spend so much time there, that Hermione, with her brilliant memory, is guaranteed to know her schedule. Even on Sundays, it seems. And even now, or especially now, because she's trying to avoid running into her, right?".

\- So, what is it? – Ron asked Hermione on their way, trying to free himself from her grasp.  
\- Well – she sounded very pleased with herself – You won't believe what Parvati told me! El got into a fight with Draco and Pansy!  
\- Since when is that good? – the redhead inquired, dumbfounded and earned a look of pity from her.  
\- Well, of course it's not good, but it was about calling people names because they're muggles. And she made Pansy levitate!

Harry didn't expect their friend to be this excited about something that involved breaking the rules, but he understood where here enthusiasm was coming from. And he too found Elena's stunt impressive. At this point he was able to make heavy books levitate, but a human? That was definitely something! On the other hand, his suspicions towards any member of the Slytherin house weren't about to disappear because of a little gossip.

\- But how do you know it's true? You said that the problem you had with her was exactly that she wouldn't say a thing last time – he decided to remark.  
\- Parvati knows from her sister, of course, and if you weren't aware Elena sneaks to the Ravenclaw Common Room every now and then, so Padma heard it from the horse's mouth – Hermione explained patiently, sounding almost offended that they doubted the quality of her sources.  
\- But you can ask El herself if you don't believe me – she suggested quietly when they entered the library.

Elena was reading in the corner, her small silhouette hunched over a book that must have weighted half what she did. When she heard familiar voices coming from the door, the silver-dappled mane on her head raised as turned around to look at them. A wince, that from a distance could be interpreted as a smile, appeared on her face, the moment she noticed who it was.

Hermione once again took charge and approached her first, just as she started packing her things, having realised that they probably want to talk and that the silent space around them wasn't the best place to do that. The two boys stood behind, blocking the way inside and therefore got pushed away by an older student, who must have been in a hurry and then decided to move out of the way, from then on waiting outside. Meanwhile the two curly-haired girls walked out of the library, having put back the huge red tome Elena had been reading.

\- What is it? – the pale one whispered on their way out.  
\- We came to say sorry to you – Hermione answered, now that they closed the door behind them, able to speak loudly.  
\- Oh, is that so? – she didn't seem convinced, shooting wary glances at the boys.  
\- Yeah. Because of what happened – Ron dared to answer, and must have instantly regretted it, since her glance, or rather glare, was now fixed on him.  
\- And what did? – her narrowed eyes travelled from the ginger-head to Harry and then back to the girl.  
\- Well, Ron wanted to say, how now that we know what's your stance on muggle-borns in Hogwarts, we wanted to apologise – the black-skinned girl paused, as if wondering if that was the correct choice of words - I wanted to apologise. For having doubted that.  
\- I'm a muggle-born myself, I thought it was obvious what I thought – she replied, although now in a less defensive tone.  
\- You can think whatever if you don't act on it – Harry interrupted.  
\- Hm... maybe you're right. Sorry for not acting on it before then, Hermione – Elena said and they hugged each other.  
He and Ron stood by, awkwardly, but then she turned to them and hugged them both as well.  
\- See, I'm not evil. I don't bite. Or kill on sight. Or whatever you fools were thinking – she grinned, possibly amused by the expressions of surprise on their faces.

\- But now, if you excuse me, I have to get back to studying. The exams are not going to write themselves – she said, pulling away and picking up the backpack she previously threw on the ground.  
\- They're at the end of the semester, right? – the red-head asked, looking for support from the tawny boy.  
Harry nodded, wondering if this was yet another unintentional way to annoy Hermione on his side. If it were, it could prove funny to watch it play out.

– So why would you study for them now?  
Hermione and Elena exchanged knowing glances, somewhat similar to those teachers discussing the behaviour of their less-gifted students usually would. Harry remembered his maths' professor's eyes to have the same appearance when Dudley's test results were discussed.  
\- Because I love studying, of course – the girls lips twisted towards the right now, with a tad of sneer perhaps, but Ron remained oblivious to it.  
\- Oh, okay then – he replied, before they said their goodbyes and parted ways.

After they arrived back in the Gryffindor Common and Hermione left them for a minute, it turned out that Ron was still absorbed with that conversation, since the first thing he said to Harry when they were left alone, was:  
\- Another mental one! No wonder Hermione likes her so much.

* * *

Two days had passed after the "incident" and Draco's anger slowly started to wear off.  
He had already written to his mother about the notebook and on Monday morning he received a new one, along with the usual packet of sweets. He might have forgot to mention the details of how he lost it, to the dissatisfaction of his father, who clearly had suspicions of some sort, judging by how for the first time since the boy went to Hogwarts he bothered to add something of his own to the letter his wife would send.  
Therefore, more than a half of the card was covered with questions about his wellbeing, advice on how to approach the teachers about the lost notes and congratulations on the grades he previously boasted about, written in his mother's characteristic dark silver cursive, and the other part, separated with a harsh line, had only four sentences on it, in even more calligraphic red lettering. Those, coming of course from his father, were as follows: "Why is it only E and not an O? I believe you can do better, Draco." and "Why had we not found out from you about the detention? Besides – how did it happen that you lost the notebook?".

For now he decided not to answer, figuring he could do that later just as well, and hoping that if his owl didn't return home by night his mom wouldn't fret too much, instead resolving to simply sending the package using her own. But then it got to him that he didn't have a cage for Saturnus at school, so the poor bird would either have to be squeezed with the plebs of the owlery or accompany him most of the time, and he wasn't that fond of animals...

His eyes involuntarily travelled to the girl sitting beside him, who he had been ignoring ever since the hassle. "Doesn't she have more than one cage for the raven? I think I heard her say something like that" the thought crossed his mind, before he stopped himself with a harsh "No! I can't talk to her! She ruined my notebook, who cares about her bird!". He was kind of surprised, honestly, that she was still sitting at their table during the meals, since he noticed that Potter and his friends were welcoming her to their own yesterday, and here she had literally no one to talk to, so she took a book with her instead. It was almost sad to watch. "No, it's not sad. It's pathetic." he corrected himself as he decided to send the owl back home without an answer and have it prepared on the next morning it comes.

When he was finished with breakfast and headed to class, he felt a pat on the arm and turned over to see Pansy Parkinson.  
\- Hey, Draco – she greeted him with a smile.  
\- Hey, what's up?  
\- Not much, I wanted to ask how are you holding up after... you know, Saturday? – she said, walking beside him, definitely too close.  
He shrugged, but that clearly wasn't enough of an answer for her. Well, maybe she wanted to hear him ask about her day in the hospital wing, but he wasn't too interested in that. Pansy was nice, sometimes, but she would become tiresome with her blabber after a while.  
\- I mean, it was awful what that mudblood did to your notebook, I think she should be expelled – his lips pouted slightly at "that word", but he wasn't aware of that.  
The girl, however, did notice it and was now looking at him intently, wondering what he was thinking.  
\- My mother got me a new one already – he told her, pulling the this time dark-green covered pad out of his pocket.

They arrived at the Charms classroom before she could make any other comment about the happenings of the weekend and inside, without even asking, she took a seat next to him. When Elena entered, their eyes met for a second and, judging by the ire glistening in hers, he was almost convinced that this would result in yet another fight, but then the curly-haired girl took a seat next to some Ravenclaw and he heard Pansy whisper:  
\- The muggles stick together, huh?

For the rest of the day he sat with the short-haired girl, since she gave him little choice to do otherwise. He kind of started missing "his muggle friend" in the Study Hall, since she had decided to accept the Lions' invitation and move to their table. He did have company smarter than Crabbe and Goyle, in the person of Pansy, but sadly she was a lot less helpful than the over-ambitious girl. Not that he needed help, of course, he was doing just fine. Though maybe, if he wanted to satisfy his father's request to get better grades, he could have used a consultation every now and then.  
But everything was to change tomorrow.

Once again the day started for him with receiving the usual gift, this time with a note "Draco, please do answer your father and me. A lot of love, Narcissa." attached to it. He was planning to do that anyways, although now, after being rushed, he suddenly didn't want to. Therefore he put the note he had prepared last evening in his pocket and left the owl in the Common Room, hoping it wouldn't make a mess until he'd send it back at lunch.

This week their second period on Tuesday was Potions, which he dreaded because it meant having to cooperate with Her and that just didn't seem like a good idea. He totally expected her to be petty and ruin his cauldron or something, because, being forced to talk to her now, he himself was fighting the urge to do something like that and restrained himself mostly out of consideration for the stern gaze of Snape, who seemed to be circling around their station with more rapt attention than ever, really a lot like a vulture over a carcass.

They managed to prepare their ingredients for Friday's brewing without any mishaps, burned hands or destroyed cauldrons, but then at the end the professor said something that made Draco see red. Before, he had no idea that he could even dare to be mad at the Potions' Master, knowing well that apart from being kind of intimidating, he was the his dad's good friend and therefore he should be even more respectful towards him, but this felt so much like a personal attack that he just couldn't get a hold of himself. His brow furrowed like his father's would in anger, when he heard Snape say, before dismissing the class:  
\- For Friday you will be expected to turn in an essay on every ingredient of the Forgetfulness Potion. In pairs – he announced, causing a murmur of discontent to sweep over the room, which immediately faded down under his cold stare.  
Hermione, as one could expect of a fearlessly dumb Lion, although this time he could agree she had a point, put her hand up and when the teacher gave her the floor to speak with an unwelcoming frown on Snape's face, she discerned:  
\- But sir, the rules clearly state that we have to have at least a week to prepare an essay.  
\- For a personal essay, yes indeed. Yet you will be preparing this one in pairs, which gives three and a half days and two points from Gryffindor for your snootiness, Granger.

"Merlin's pants, what am I to do now? Is he doing that on purpose?" the young Malfoy spent his break wondering, mindlessly listening to the chatter of Blaise and Pansy's, who still was hanging around. In the Transfiguration lesson he was still lost in his thoughts, but then, halfway through the lesson Elena's hand raised into the air randomly.  
\- Yes, Miss Castel? – McGonagall let her speak.  
\- Ma'am, can I ask you a question?  
\- You already have, but yes, please do – the woman noted.

\- I was wondering... is it possible to transfigure something burnt into its former shape? – only a complete fool would not understand the hidden meaning to that sudden query, but in that case Draco could clearly always count on his friends, because Crabbe now sent him a puzzled look, not understanding what was going on.

\- Why, Miss Castel? Do you want to confess to burning something, perhaps? – the teacher's brow raised in suspicion.  
She had probably heard about Saturday's events, but he doubted she knew all the details, because the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor definitely didn't like each other too much.

\- No, of course not, professor. I was just curious. As always – Elena sent her the most falsely innocent smile she had in her repertoire.  
He knew that trick, since he had the same habit when his mom was trying to scold him for anything. It never worked on his father, though. "And it doesn't on McGonagall either" he noticed.

\- I have my doubts about that. But I can assure you, Miss Castel, that at such a low level of proficiency in Transfiguration even you or Ms. Granger would fail to use such a spell.  
\- So it exists then? – her tone was hopeful.  
\- I have to disappoint you, but no, such a spell does not exist. Not everything can be fixed with magic. And I would rather not find out that you did have a dangerous reason for your desire for knowledge in this matter, Miss Castel – she warned her at the end.

"Why would she ask this out loud, attracting the attention of McGonagall, when she could have just went to the library to check?" he asked himself, but the explanation was obvious. "Because she wanted me to hear that." Well, it was nice to see that he wasn't the only one wondering how to solve their group-working problem and this did imply that she was sorry, but what had happened still wasn't and couldn't be fixed, as it turned out. Besides, he had already gotten rid of the ashy remains of the notebook anyways.

Nevertheless, during the lunch break, he scrapped the last card he wrote and instead sent one that did not mention El as a culprit. He knew how his father could get and it was very much possible that he would come to school to persuade Snape or even Dumbledore himself to let Draco change his lab partner, if he knew. And since the options varied from Pansy to "those two nitwits", since Theodore and Blaise were already paired with each other, he'd rather spend the rest of the year in Potions in silence interrupted only by names of the ingredients. It wasn't the best option, but it wasn't completely insufferable.

On Wednesday he deduced it was his turn to show he's not that furious anymore and despite still keeping his quiet during breakfast, "Well, she seems engulfed in that book anyways", he ignored Pansy's glance when entering the classroom before their first lesson and took his seat next to Elena. Since it was History of Magic and there was no subject more boring and thus better suited for conversation, he hoped they could maybe make up, so that in the afternoon they could start working on the essay. She must have thought the same, because when professor Binns turned away, Draco felt a piece of paper poking against his hand.  
It was blank, to his surprise. He sent Elena a puzzled look, eyebrows raised in a silent question and she shrugged, saying, in a barely audible whisper: "Say sorry."

He didn't feel that much like apologising. After all, they were even, kind of. Maybe even he was more the injured party than her. But he knew what she was pointing at, of course, and honestly, if this meant he'd have her help again... Then it could be worth the slightly insincere apology, even if it was a tad cringing to him.

It took him almost ten minutes until he finally decided to write something, and he had to turn the torn out page around, because he discovered that he had been mindlessly drawing on it. He scratched the doodles and on the blank side wrote a few words with his quill. Wary not to be noticed by the teacher, he then slid the card back towards Elena.

They kept communicating in that way for good twenty minutes, only rarely pausing to note something the monotonous voice of the professor said. When they were finished, the card was almost completely filled with the sepia brown and onyx black inking, his and hers respectively:  
"I am sorry El, for calling you a mudblood" the word had been crossed out by him "badly. I swear I won't do it again." – he started.  
"Until Pansy wants to talk to you?" – she doubted him.  
"Come on, no. Not even to her." – he wasn't lying even, he was fed up with Pansy after the last two days and it didn't matter to him what she thought if she wasn't even a useful friend.  
"Was that the only time though?" – her questions started becoming irritating, so he answered with one of his own.  
"Yup. Have you found a way to repair my notebook, by the way?" – at this point they almost got caught, so his lettering was a little cramped as he had to watch Mr. Binns while writing.  
"No, not a trace of one, sadly. And sorry for that. But I can help you re-write what you lost in the new one. Okay?"  
"Okay. And the potions thing?"  
"Yeah it seems Snape wanted us specifically to work together, don't you think? I mean, not a word to anyone, or we'll take all the blame, but he clearly doesn't want us to blow up the Potions' lab in a quarrel. So I guess we best do what we have to. But if you want me to help you in Herbology then you'll have to pay in sweets."  
"How do you know about Herbology?" - he wrote, really surprised.  
"I have eyes. Your dad's kinda mean though." - oh, so she wasn't just focusing on reading her book during those meals!  
"Sometimes. So, how much?"- he had already once traded three chocolate frogs for a homework she let him copy, but this time he was afraid she'd demand more.  
"How about half of what you get for two weeks?"  
"One week." - his dad would be proud of such a business-like approach, or so he hoped.  
"One and a half." – she too was a tough negotiator.  
"But you'll do more of the Potions essay."  
"Deal." – she smirked as she moved the paper towards him and so did he.  
Well, it wasn't that hard to come to an agreement, it turned out.

* * *

Severus Snape rarely would receive letters, especially ones delivered to school. Even more infrequent were the cases when his Ciccaba huhula was interrupted from roaming around the grounds of Hogwarts to be given a dark brown envelope with the answer. This Thursday, however, the day came. The owl didn't have a name, he never bothered to give it one, instead choosing to call it without words like now, when, upon hearing him whistle, the black bird flew out of the forest and swooped, landing on his shoulder. Hearing the flutter of its wings behind him, the man lifted his pensive gaze from the black surface of the Great Lake and pulled the letter out of his pocket. His features softened slightly when he put it in the owl's beak, patting it gently on the head with his finger.

Carrying the small envelope, it took off from its master's arm and dashed towards the horizon, making for Wiltshire. Soon, it arrived at the manor, manoeuvring its way inside after most of the household was already asleep. The sound of its wings caused the dogs, laying on the floor beside their master's feet to lift their heads a long time before the bird landed on his desk.  
\- Silvanus, you found your way around closed windows and doors somehow, I see – the man addressed the owl upon its arrival.  
He would frequently talk to animals he owned, or used to, although only if there were no prying human ears around to listen in. And the door to his study was indeed one of the scarce number of those which were left open during the night.  
He took the envelope from the black feathered messenger, and, not needing to check for the sender's name, he tore it open to read the date and exact hour for his upcoming visit at Hogwarts.

"An unofficial one", he needed to remind himself, already bracing for the guaranteed displeasure of the headmaster if he were to run into him. It was, of course, impossible for Albus to be unaware of his presence on the school grounds, but it was still so early after his takeover of the Council, that he didn't want to push it. Probably the only thing he awaited with more indignation than the unavoidable quarrel with Dumbledore if they were to meet indeed, was the very sight of that pathetic old man, foolish muggle-admirer.

As he winced with disgust at the perspective alone, he noticed the owl was still in front of him. "Clearly, Silvanus has a better memory than I expected" he sighed, drawing his wand. Two confused mice, up until now living somewhere in the dungeons under the mansion, appeared in his left hand, in front of the anticipating animal. Holding them by their tails, Lucius watched almost as attentively as his hounds did when the owl ripped them out of his hand one by one and ate them alive, the greyish-pink threads disappearing inside its beak like strings of pasta.  
Lord Malfoy, perhaps having inherited that from his father, a man who insisted on breeding Thestrals despite his high-standing friends' disapproval and was still a passionate hunter, held nature, especially the murdering aspect of it, in great regard.

* * *

The next morning, exactly a minute before the prearranged hour, Severus Snape, sitting in the darkness of his office and correcting a batch of senseless hogwash which some students dared to call their assigned essays, heard the distinctive sound of a cane knocking against the stone. Soon, without any further notice, the heavy door moved on its own accord, slamming into the wall loudly as a tall man in a black cloak with silver lining and dark-grey fur collar entered, his blond hair reflecting the flames of the candles behind the professor's back.

\- Greetings, Severus – the intruder, or guest as most would call it, said, opening the curtains with a flick of his wand before he slid it back into the cane – You have such a beautiful view into the lake here, why would you keep them drawn?  
\- Greetings, Lucius – he replied, adding in a more sarcastic tone - Because I cherish being spited by people blinding me with light out of the sudden, obviously.  
\- Oh, you're right. My apologies – the black drapes moved back to the middle of the of the rod that was holding them and with them the door closed - Compromise?

He nodded in response, moving the school documents aside. Upon noticing that the blond man was still standing, hand wrapped around the silver ornament on the top of his cane, Snape asked him to take a seat, making one appear from the depths of the chamber, since the office was only prepared for solitary working or, if necessary, scolding students, not for taking visits.

\- Tea? – the professor asked, somewhat grudgingly playing the role of the host of a social call.  
\- I hopefully won't be long, so no, thank you – the Malfoy reclined in the leather-upholstered armchair and only after he had found a comfortable position did he finally ask his question – Well... would you be so kind as to tell me why did my son receive that detention? A little bird told me a thing or two, as you've read, but what exactly had happened, I'm afraid, still remains unclear to me. And I wanted to find out from you, Severus.  
"Am I supposed to feel honoured?" Snape thought with irony and his brow twitched a little.

\- Draco called the other student a word he ought not to have used, she overheard it and confronted him. The kids fought, as they do, and were penalised for their actions accordingly – he answered curtly, hoping to cut the elucidation as short as possible, since upon the man's closer scrutiny it could quickly turn into a racial conflict, in which he had no intention to take sides in, when it concerned the students of his House.

He could have conjectured from the letter alone that his old friend expected an apology of sorts, so he added, meaning appease him:  
\- I do not suppose that you would assume I were unfair in my judgment, however, for the record, your son was only administered a single two-hours detention, which is a lot less than the bellwether. As was Mr. Parkinson's daughter, but I take you are already aware of that. Besides, it consisted of a few menial tasks, carried out under my own supervision and I had only chosen this type of punishment to spare him the shame of losing points for the House.

Lucius' icy, pewter-coloured eyes were fixed on his face as he spoke, his left hand, however, was playing with the silver rings on his fingers, turning them around after he had taken off his gloves. The cane now rested beside him, unguarded, leaning against the chair.  
\- Is the bellwether, as you called her, indeed a muggle-born, as I have heard? – the blond man inquired, probably wanting to assess whether she had actually been offended by his son – That would be very odd for a Slytherin, unprecedented almost, wouldn't it? In my personal opinion, if that is the case, the Hat has made a grave mistake. People like that should be kept as far away from the school in itself as possible.

He also believed that the slur was accurate towards wizards and witches of fully muggle ancestry, this Severus was certain about, but of course he couldn't usually indulge in openly expressing those views. Unless he were talking privately and off-the-record with somebody he trusted to share them, of course. Like in this very moment. Therefore, the professor was now in the rather uncomfortable position of having to divert the topic from the girl's possibly exclusively-muggle lineage without forthrightly defending her. He himself, after all, wasn't too fond of muggles either, his attitude would be perhaps best described by the word "ambivalent".

\- Since I do not have the habit of learning all of my students' family trees by heart, I am unable to tell you that, Lucius. Moreover, I am convinced that this is a piece of confidential information – he decided to respond.

\- Oh, so am I. But you need to keep in mind that I am on the Board of Hogwarts' Governors and as such am in authority to posses it – leaning forwards, his guest reminded him about his power, despite just having exploited the informality of their conversation.

"Well, it is an unachievable feat to forget your titles, Lucius, when you flaunt them every two seconds" Severus remarked internally. He was used to that, considering how it took the Malfoy nearly two years after graduation to stop referring to himself as the Slytherin Prefect; and that was only caused by the fact that he then briefly worked at the Ministry, thus gaining the even more dignified label of a senior-Obliviator. However, to the black-haired wizard accustoming to something meant constantly griping about it with resentment without outwardly exhibiting it, rather than actually accepting it as it was.

When he replied, his sarcastic observations had made their way into his tone:  
\- In that case, if I find out, I will be sure to let you know, Governor. Officially – the corner of his mouth raised slightly, and so did Lucius', surprisingly – But for now, as I lack the insight you seek, I can only emphasize that the girl, whatever her heritage, is a member of the Slytherin House. While I do think highly of your son's magical abilities, – "A lousy euphemism for – while I associate him with the reputation of his parentage." – I cannot give preferential treatment to any of the students. They are judged solely on merit. Their ancestry is irrelevant – as he was saying that, the faces of Longbottom and Potter flashed before his eyes, but he dismissed them quickly. - And I assure you, that my highest priority is keeping order amongst the Slytherins. Besides, as far as I know, those two have already buried the hatchet.

As he finished his, hopefully sufficiently persuasive, oration, Lucius, who had previously once again leaned back in the armchair, raised his brows with scepticism, shaking his head slightly.  
\- Have they? – he paused, looking at Severus in disbelief until he nodded. - To be frank, I wouldn't have expected that. Draco is usually rather... vindictive, so to say. Well then, it seems that you really have everything under control, Head of the Slytherin House – Malfoy's tone was mimicking his jibe about the governor's post from earlier.  
\- I cannot say that I am fully converted to accepting your stance on that... issue, Severus, but I trust your judgment. Although I must admit I would rather not have this happen again, since that would force me to bring it up to the Board.

"Bring up what exactly? That those, who some of you call their beautiful, lovable children, are just a bunch of foolish little brats and their acts very much do show it? What's next, the shocking announcement that water is wet?" Snape wondered, although his expression remained unaffected by the ironic questions appearing in his brain. It wouldn't be too wise to admit to a father that his kid hardly differed from the rest.

\- I will do my utmost to avoid that – he said instead – Although, and I cannot stress that enough, it is your son's responsibility to behave himself. Which includes avoiding conflicts. Even with muggle-borns – the determination in his onyx eyes managed to stop Lucius from trying to argue that those were sometimes justified.

\- Fair enough – the blond man put his gloves back on, having turned the rings as they previously were, then took his cane and got up from the chair – Well, I think I've learned everything I needed to know. Thank you for your time, Severus – he sounded diplomatically polite rather than friendly, but then he added, causing the professor's consternation - En passant, if you ever find the time, Narcissa and I would be elated to have you as a guest, even if it were to discuss our son's misbehaviour – judging by the contrast between his eyes and smile, he meant that last thing as a joke he would rather not see come true - Just send Silvanus to us a day or two in advance.

"He'll never back down from calling it that, will he? And what a ridiculous idea, as if it weren't enough that I'm visiting them in March each year..." Snape remarked to himself, although there was a chance, a very slim one, that he was a tad bit content upon hearing the invitation.  
\- Yes, of course, if I do find the time I will be sure to let you know – he definitely didn't sound too pleased, part of him insisting on forcing the blond man to regret his decision.

\- Well, then à la prochaine, Severus – he heard the Malfoy speaking on his way out, unconcerned by his typical lack of enthusiasm.  
The door closed behind him, but he must have turned back after just a few steps, since the cane's knocking which accompanied him didn't fade away. He entered once again, making the Hogwarts' teacher raise his brows in a silent question. "Whatever did he leave behind?"  
\- Oh, I forgot one thing – the blond man said, upon returning, drawing his wand and with a flick of it getting the curtains to the state they were in when he came upon them – You prefer to sit in darkness.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy née Black never had a problem tolerating her husband's personality quirks. Or working her way around them, if need were.  
In most matters, they were very much compatible, thus forming a harmonious marriage, and for an arranged union, compared to the ones in their environment, even a happy one. The connection between them was mainly a friendship, but perhaps the closest one either of them had ever had. Despite Lucius' despotic inclinations, they would always strive for compromise in the issues they faced as a family, since he learned early that his wife was not someone who'd let him impose his will on her, even if her methods of achieving her own goals were far more subtle than his.

The only trait of his she never managed to alter to make it more tolerable to her, were his violent fits of rage. Almost always directed at those much lower than them, they presented no threat to her or her son, but she found them disruptive, considering that on a bad day every little thing could provoke an outburst. Therefore, she was almost glad when he had found a way to alleviate them by throwing himself into the hobbies of his, which over the years he'd had a large number of.

First was hunting perhaps, because she remembered him showing her the head of a dear he had caught back when she visited the Malfoy Manor for the first time in her life, when his parents were still the ones residing in the impressive villa. After their wedding, when he took over the estate, for a while he'd still go hunting in their forest every now and then, but that attracted the attention of Malfoy Senior, who her husband looked very much grateful to have gotten rid of after his parents moved away, leaving the manor to the newlywed couple. Therefore he wasn't too pleased about his offers of accompanying him and soon gave up on those trips to the backwoods, focusing on advancing his position in the organisation he had meanwhile joined. She watched him grow in power there, as well as in the businesses he was gradually receiving control over as Abraxas would slowly retreat into the shadows. Maintaining all the connections he inherited and making his own, engaging actively in the war, becoming the Lord's favoured right hand, gaining an authority over the Eaters that only he himself could surpass – it all took a lot of his energy, enough that he would not take it out on the house elves who had failed to predict that he would have wanted a goblet of nettle wine instead of the elderflower one he was offered.

Then came the downfall. Despite his position in the ranks of the supremacists, he couldn't keep a hold of the raging pack of wolves that those murderous wizards resembled, when they scattered round in fear after Voldemort's disappearance. He spent the winter trying to organise them, but failed to and then had to retreat, to give up on his ambitious plans. And so she was forced to see Lucius fall, unable to help in any way, but always present by his side, even when he was defeated and then in the late 1982 subsequently charged with the mass-murdering of muggles attributed to the Death Eaters. At first he wasn't afraid, since he averted being immediately discovered, but after the date for his first trial had been appointed, even though he still remained free in his home unlike numerous of their less influential friends, panic took hold of him. But for her support and the arrangements she helped his father organise, he could have very well broken in an interrogation and made a mistake that would let the investigators find a proof of his crimes.

She was so worried during that period, the memories of the sleepless nights still lingered in her mind to this day. On the days of the questioning – the dark, deserted manor, the crying of their child in the cradle standing right beside the huge bed, far too big for one person alone. Him, coming back home, exhausted, apathetic, unable to even describe how it went to her. Her, agonising over what would happen if he were indeed incarcerated for years in Azkaban. She didn't even have anyone to tell her worries to, since apart from her parents-in-law, who too preferred to keep their distance, everybody they held dear was either too afraid to associate with them while the attention of the Ministry was so focused on Lucius, or were dealing with similar problems themselves. Even Narcissa's own family could not keep her company, preoccupied with trying to persuade Bella not to confess her crimes. The only person from amongst their friends, who would dare to visit them in that time was the recently exonerated Severus Snape.

On her birthday in the spring of 1983, which she had forgotten about because of all that was happening, he appeared at the gate, without prior notice but to her pleasant surprise, bordering on relief that not everyone forgot about the two of them, and thus came the tradition of inviting him every year.

The Blacks' youngest daughter was imprisoned before May came, due to her own choice in fact, but it was a huge blow for Narcissa nevertheless. Her husband, luckily, wasn't as foolish as her sister and was cleared of the charges he faced because of the Imperiatus Curse he swore had been used on him shortly after. He was finally able to spend their son's third birthday with her instead of isolating in his study on the second floor as he developed the habit to during the trials. Since he now was on the quest of rebuilding his reputation and influence, that was possibly the biggest party ever held for Draco's birthday, and she welcomed the crowds happily, suddenly appreciative of the alternative to the complete silence she had to get used to in the last few months.

Soon, the period of post-war restlessness began, when Lucius would disappear to France for weeks on end, lying to her face that it was the muggle perfume-business his father gifted him with after his return to the land of living that was keeping him there, but she knew everything there was to, only she never let him conjecture that she did.  
Keeping him on his toes in this matter was beneficial to her in many ways, as he was much more careful around her, as well as inclined to agree with anything she decided. She used that to remain in control about Draco's upbringing, refusing to leave it to an house-elven nanny or a mentor and thus defying a longstanding tradition of the Malfoys. She did not mind being left alone either, since now that their previous influence not only returned but even grew and bloomed, she had plenty of things to keep herself busy with during his absences. This situation continued up until their son was about seven years old, when, reacting to Lucius' fit of rage towards a house-elf, she brought up his affairs and thus forced him to put an end to them. He briefly returned to hunting and Thestral-riding then, but it weren't for long.

Next was the gambling, which she was sure he was introduced to by some muggle contractor or business partner of his. Once again she let him believe she had no clue, despite having plenty. His frequent disappearances, usually excused by the business meetings, weren't what aroused her suspicions. It was the vials of Polyjuice hidden in the library, which she stumbled upon by chance when she was trying to find a book on Untransfiguration to change the broccoli her son managed to turn into stone during a tantrum back into its original state. She started paying attention to them and quickly noticed that those supplies were draining regularly, every two weeks or so, then being replaced by new ones. Along with them, the muggle-money stored in the chests in Lucius' study was disappearing. Linking the two together wasn't too hard. She did not preoccupy herself with the matters of finances, because she never needed to, but she did have access to the book-keeping documents he kept and on her first suspicion started studying them intently, monitoring how much he was losing. Considering the revenues of his French perfume factories alone, the ones he stopped being so keen about after she once implied that she had found a piece of clothing that did not belong to him in the luggage he brought back, it was nothing, thankfully. Nevertheless, she kept a close watch on them from then on, ready to intervene if ever became necessary.

Once again, she never informed him explicitly about her finding out, but probably he assumed she did, because when they had to decide where to send Draco to school to, it was enough for her to give one argument for him to surrender and agree with her, that Hogwarts was a better choice. Well, the leverages she had over him, definitely were useful in such cases.

As stated, she was a very, extraordinarily even, tolerant wife. But everyone had their limits. And hers were reached, when one day she went downstairs all by herself to take a bottle of Champaign, not entrusting the sometimes awfully clumsy house-elves with such fragile and valuable things. She went into the dark corridor of the manor's basement and headed to the part they stored their wines in. Suddenly, she stepped on something soft that twitched under her shoe. Expecting it to be a mouse, she used the Lumos spell to brighten up her surroundings and upon the sight screamed so loudly that it was probably audible outside of the villa as well. Thankfully, she wasn't holding a bottle when she saw the frightened faces of the two tied up people on the floor, because she would have been guaranteed to drop it on stones to crash on.


	7. The subtle allure of memories

_**Note from th****e**_**_ author: _**_Don't like the Malfoys? I'm sorry then, the whole chapter is dedicated to them (tho Snape's a meanie, so maybe that will appease you).  
**TW:**__ Child abuse is mentioned, violence is depicted._

Narcissa's cheeks were as red as her crimson lipstick when she yelled:  
\- Come down here, Lucius! COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!  
She very rarely raised her voice, but when she did it was so powerful that the walls almost quivered, and doubtlessly was audible in his second floor study. Could she theoretically have used a spell to amplify it or simply send an elf upstairs to get her husband? Indubitably, but the sound of her shouts echoing in the hallways of the manor felt just too satisfying to her. The soreness that came over her throat shortly after, sort of calmed her down, just enough to let her remember about the silent witnesses of her ebullition.

\- Excuse my outburst – she said apologetically smiling to the two, hopefully muggle, prisoners on the floor, as if it was a common occurrence to have people held hostage just below one's living-room.  
"Well, I have every right to assume that it is one for Lucius. Hell. Hell is what this man insists on putting me through." she sighed, contemplating the situation.

The two people leaning against the stones, a man and a woman, were both tied up and possibly magically gagged, but conscious, and even if they hadn't been before, she was sure she had woken them up with her scream earlier, so truly, she had nothing to apologise about, but the force of habit prevailed even against this absurdity. The woman had short brown hair, very prominent cheekbones and a light complexion, the man was darker-skinned and had long, curly hair. At least that was all she managed to notice in the glow of her wand, stealing a short glance, figuring that her staring could only worsen their fear. Their eyes were already tracing every each of her movements with apprehension, which was perhaps the main thing making her uncomfortable in their presence, since she had seen things more horrible than those seemingly unscathed strangers during the war. Although what differentiated those events from this, was that none of them had happened in HER HOUSE, which for Narcissa was a rather fundamental disparity. For now, however tempted to immediately reverse-spell, then Obliviate them and simply get rid of the problem, she waited for her husband to come down and maybe weigh in on this, on top of explaining himself.

When Lucius finally descended the staircase, he was clearly stalling to let the first wave of anger completely wash over her before their confrontation, but she wasn't going to let THIS slide. With her hand on her hip and gesturing towards the hostages with the one holding the wand, she greeted him with raising her voice yet again and a cold note of irony:  
\- Why tell me, are there tied up human beings in my cellar?! And slower, could you? – she added, upon realising that he almost froze in place on that reveal - It's not like they're going anywhere either way of course, but you could hurry.

To her utmost surprise, judging by the frank expression of shock painting on his face in that moment, he had not been either involved with or aware of the outrageous contents of their basement. Unlike her, however, he must have been familiar with all the dots that were to be connected to find out who had been the culprit, since in a second, after he had collected himself, the yelling resumed. She, however, wasn't at the receiving end of it, obviously. He rarely dared to do that in any case.

\- DOBBY! – he roared as his hand curled into a fist, the veins between the unbuttoned collar of his robe throbbing.  
The elf, however, was nowhere to be seen. When he finally appeared before them, it was already cowering in fear, prepared to take a beating. Narcissa wasn't feeling at all sympathetic towards it, considering that from what she had gathered it was its doing that she had almost had a heart attack not two minutes ago, but nevertheless she decided to intervene, not too keen on witnessing her house elf being slaughtered before her, because that was exactly what it looked like was going to happen.

\- Lucius! – she exclaimed, taking a step towards him and putting her hand on his forearm, raised for spell-casting.  
His eyes shifted towards her and he fought to contain himself for a second before he took a deep, loud breath and his hand lowered, her fingers still above it.  
\- I take it that you are furious, since so am I. But I'd suggest not doing anything too hastily – she sounded a lot calmer than she felt, just another skill one could acquire after years of practice.  
\- If you wish to kill the elf, you have my permission, assuming that he's the one responsible for this ...situation. Although in all truth, I'd like you to tell me what exactly brought... – she gestured towards the people by the wall, now in the light from her wand crouching best as they could under the ropes, trying to make themselves disappear - ...this on first.  
\- Yes well... of course – Lucius seemed flustered almost – You have the right to know.

She noticed that his wand slid back into the cane he held in his left hand and relief swept over her. No bloodshed in her cellar for today, no need for Tergeos to be cast and possibly a little less trauma for the captives, thanks Merlin. Her husband took another deep, sigh-like breath, before he finally started his elucidation:  
\- See, dear, I might have ordered the elf to prepare the ingredients for, well, quite obviously for Polyjuice, I suppose there's no use hiding it from you now. And I take it was his brilliant idea to keep the people whose hairs he took here. I swear on my name it wasn't mine.

"As if that weren't clear enough from your consternation before. But so I hoped to hear." she thought, outwardly only nodding silently.  
Neither of them would stoop to the level of asking the elf if it had anything to add, but that wasn't necessary, since Dobby decided to do so on his own, in a pleading, sob-like tone so typical to him when he was scared of another punishment:  
\- Dobby heard that the hairs have to be from an alive person. Dobby thought that this way they would be alive for sure. Dobby only wanted master to be safe. Dobby meant well.  
\- Don't. Interrupt. Us. – Lucius warned him, drawling through his teeth.  
He then continued to her, his voice as soft as it could possibly be with the undertones of rage still burning underneath the calm exterior:  
\- Well, I am terribly sorry you had to discover this, Narcissa. As I said, I had absolutely no idea that something like this was taking place, it hadn't crossed my mind that it could have... – he paused and then, under her demanding gaze, with negligible reluctance added - On my part I can only apologise to you for, well, sort of having provoked this.

\- It's all right – she said, as her hand squeezed his arm tightly, in a reassuring manner.  
Then, figuring that he might consider the matter resolved and not bother to return to it later, she reminded him in advance:  
\- Although I will, of course, be hoping that you continue your explanation on the Polyjuice -part. However, we could perhaps discuss that under more pleasurable conditions upstairs, when you're done with getting things in order down here.  
"Not that I require your help in realising that it is being stored and possibly brewed under my roof." she kept the remark to herself. It would be best revealed during their afternoon tea along with the rest of the deck of cards she could play against him.

\- By all means, I will – he promised obediently – And don't worry, darling, I will take care of everything. Obliviations and all else...– the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a faint, not quite comforting smile to her and in a blink he was glaring at the house elf beside him menacingly.  
\- Well then, I'll leave you to it. Do not keep our... guests waiting for any longer. And I expect that there will be no sign of them in here when I am back in an hour for the Champaign I had initially come to take – she announced while leaving the cellar, directing the last part more at the still fearfully trembling elf on his right.  
And rightfully afraid Dobby was, since not a minute passed after her exit and she was still in the corridor leading to the basement, when she heard him lament under the doubtlessly ruthless hits of Lucius' cane.

* * *

Narcissa wasn't precisely furious with him yet, although he wouldn't blame her if she were, himself so outraged at the situation and at the fact that he had let this happen in his carelessness about overseeing and controlling his elf's actions, that he had almost become empathetic. When he finally dealt with both the matter and Dobby, leaving the creature whimpering somewhere in the corner of the cellar, Lucius went upstairs, taking the bottle his wife had mentioned earlier, since from the fact that she did not carry out her promise to come back to the cellar yet, he guessed she had forgotten about it.

He entered the living room to see Narcissa sitting comfortably on the satin pillows of the sofa, reading a newspaper, with a teacup in her hand.  
\- Didn't take you as long as I had presumed, I see – her gaze lifted from the Prophet and went straight to him.  
\- Yes, thankfully so. I brought you the wine. I hope Feuillatte is acceptable? – he asked, despite being convinced that it very much was, and showed her the bottle.  
\- Yes, I think it is – she put the newspaper away on the table and beckoned for him to take the seat opposite her.  
He left the Champaign on a cupboard on his way to there, figuring that so far any celebrations with its involvement would be a tad bit premature.

\- So – Narcissa started with a sigh – Would be so kind as to explain what exactly do you need Polyjuice for? Is it like your French episode yet again?  
He had dreaded that question, but sadly, he had been caught out by her in the past once too many times to avoid hearing the litany of his transgressions each time another came.

The truth was that sometimes, not too often, perhaps once every few months, he would indeed give in to the temptation. Safely hidden in a disguise, even though that part sometimes pained him, since he would rather be able to charm his conquests with his original looks rather than stolen ones, he found it far too hard to resist it. Of course, depending on the character he was, erroneously, playing, and he rarely could indulge in fully posing for a person as rich and as magnetic as he considered himself to be, the interest of people in him varied, but there rarely was none at all. Whenever he bet a lot, especially if he were disguised as a woman, it was impossible to keep the admirers at bay. However, more often than not, his trips to horse races happened as a break from a boring day at the manor, therefore he would be coming back to his wife shortly, so he usually would abstain from pushing his luck too much. From his French episode, as it clearly went down in his history as, he learned the hard way that some things were much harder to mask than others. That did not mean, however, that he was going to deny himself the pleasures of sometimes using his potions in business banquets, including numerous ones that ended up with him breaking the rules of their marriage contract, only that he was eminently careful not to make any of it lasting, thus disappearing from the hotel rooms never to be heard from, or seen, again.

\- No, of course not – he lied smoothly – I am a man of my word, dear.  
\- I am not doubting that – a blatant falsity, contradicting her previous words.  
Sometimes he wondered whether their conversations had a single honest sentence in them whatsoever. Deceit possibly wasn't the best fundament for a marriage, but it somehow worked for them, so he had never found a fault with that. Regardless, it was startling to him that this exact of his deeds sprung to her mind concerning the potion. Either it was the most aggravating of his sins against her, or she immediately suspected he could be using it for such a thing. "Am I really that much of an open book?" he thought to himself carefully putting his cane against the armrest of the sofa he was occupying.

\- Are you planning to tell me or not, Lucius? – Narcissa urged him.

He knew there was no way of stalling, that one thing was written in her azure eyes clear as day. Since he had not come up with a believable excuse in the last hour, another five minutes would not be likely to save him either. Come to think of it, he should probably have dealt with that problem a long time ago, by figuring a way of justifying the brewing, or even the money-spending in a convincing manner, making up a cover-up of any sort. He could have envisaged that this would happen sooner or later, especially since he was so afraid of it, but he just never braced for dealing with the aftermath. Although, in all honesty, such a fable would be almost impossible to construct. However now, due to his lack of preparedness, he was left with nothing but the unvarnished truth.

\- Well – he began, taking the cup of tea she had poured for him – I have been betting. On horse races, mainly. To avoid bringing attention to myself, or tarnishing my, or our, reputation, I had been using Polyjuice for disguise. I used to have other means of obtaining it, but lately I was forced to rely on the elves', well, elf's help. And you had seen what that resulted in.

\- Oh yes, I have – she took a sip of tea, eyeing him from above the cup.  
She didn't seem at all enraged, still. But he knew her too well to not expect a demand that he righted his wrongs and he weren't mistaken.  
\- Well, this is all I can tell you about this matter – he added under her gaze, to fill the silence.

\- Of course – she said finally, putting the porcelain away with a clang – I believe you've told me enough. Well, first off, I had noticed the Polyjuice quite some time ago, only I didn't want to make a scene, hoping you would stop on your own accord, sooner or later. Gave you the benefit of the doubt, so to say.  
"Salazar's mercy, I am in immense trouble." he judged from the restraint in her voice. And as much as such schoolboy-like thinking appalled him, there was no better way to phrase it.

\- And you have, sadly, let me down. I am not opposed to that ...hobby of yours, per say. As long as you are responsible in handling the issues of finances connected to it, but in that one area, even if only in it, you have never given me a reason to doubt you – he felt simultaneously surprised and relived by her previous sentence, but the last one stung painfully nonetheless. – However – she continued, a barely noticeable change in her voice turning it more stern – you will neither brew, nor store Polyjuice in here, nor will you let there be literally any association between our house, name or yourself and such practices. Not unless there is a way that the secret could be revealed to the public. So if you had been buying at Borgin's before... – "Just how did she figure that one out?" he raised his brow, dumbfounded, but didn't dare to interrupt her – then you will need to find another way. I do not trust that man, and you should not either. Whatever you do, if you must, just promise me you will not dare to risk getting our name mixed up with it.

She sounded oddly like his father with that repeated emphasis on the pride of the name. As if he had not concerned himself with that before. "It is MY name, ultimately. Of course I had given that some thought already" he felt offended at her patronising advice. Luckily, not much of that emotion did make its way into his answer:  
\- I promise you I will do just that. And whatever solution I will come up with, I would be happy to consult it with you before applying it in practice. Provided that is fine by you, darling.  
She nodded, a smile gracing her features. "Well, if there is anything sincere in this household, I am just witnessing it." he concluded, responding with a similar expression.

* * *

Two weeks had passed, during which Lord Malfoy kept monitoring his storages of Polyjuice with apprehension, wondering whether and when exactly, Narcissa would carry out the part of their reconciliation that pertained to throwing them away if he dared to break her trust again. He didn't risk defying her further and for that time refrained from cultivating his beloved avocation, which rendered him somewhat apathetic and concurrently rather frantic about finding a solution to his problems. Consequently, when his wife suggested their old friend, a potions-specialist, after all, he grabbed at that straw like a drowning man.

Severus was simultaneously the worst and the best choice in this situation. He had already been partly mindful of his secret, thus making him fully a confidant only necessitated only filling him in on a few details. And begging him for his help, that as well, but Lucius thought it best not to torture himself with that awareness until the time would come.

They had both agreed, with Narcissa, upon this; mainly because there were no other viable options. Even though she was the one who advised her husband to turn to Snape, him deeming it a great idea met with her absolute discontent, as he noticed. At this point he realised, that his wife's very intention with the whole "very restricted permission" was most likely to subtly nudge him towards ditching the whole thing altogether. As such, it might have been that the half-blood's name was thrown by her more as an insult towards Lucius than as a candid piece of advice. Reviving old friendships, even if close and one that had never fully died out, solely as a pretence to ask for favours was not perhaps the most gracious scheme possible. On the other hand, he had already laid the groundwork for that before he had an actual reason, hadn't he? That should not put him in the position of a beggar and rather of a considerate patron, who, of course, had to ask for something in return for his friendliness. Still, the man was so much lower than them, that especially in Narcissa's eyes, despite her actual kindness towards Severus, their affiliation had never been an equal one. Either way, the gambling and other clever usages Polyjuice could have, had become a far too big part of Lucius' life, during those few years slowly escalating from "a vial or two a year" to his current routine requiring at least a dozen for that time, for him to just discard it so lightly.

Therefore, he eventually brought himself to write the letter, one containing a friendly, yet assuming, invitation and a very brief mention of the matter at hand, that being him having "a minor favour to ask". When his owl took above the snow-covered flatlands surrounding the manor, he sighed with relief. A part of him kept hoping it would somehow fail to deliver it, that the dark green envelope would get lost in a drift. A childish wish, but it accompanied Lucius, at least until he got the answer the next day.

* * *

The letter "found him in good health", if a little startled by the frequency of the huge grey-mottled owl's visits to the Hogwarts castle lately. If anything, it was even more pretentious in its tone than the last one had been, as he noted sarcastically. In red ink, that brought to mind the shade of drying blood, it announced that he, a "dear old friend", was invited to the manor in Wiltshire the week before Christmas. Upon reading it, part of him wanted to laugh, bitterly, at the pointless use of etiquette and euphemisms of all sorts. He could have just as well been directly asked in writing for... Merlin knew what precisely, but it was not arduous to deduce that the favour Lucius needed was a significant one. It simultaneously undermined all his repressed hopes that the Malfoy's previous invite was a profound one and assuaged his contradictory apprehension that it might have been exactly that. Now, at least, that one thing was settled.

Severus had not actually considered following on his promise to visit the Malfoys before, since he regarded it as an act of politeness that had little to do with actual sentiments, and even if it did, he resented the very idea of reinstating that friendship as it used to be years ago. Of course, he were not oblivious to the fact that with Draco being taught by him, the family would use their connection as an influence on him, hence why he had treated the boy respectfully from the very start. And while he had already got his evidence last month that it would indeed be so, as well as he was perfectly aware that sooner or later such an occurrence would arise again, he had not anticipated it exceedingly. However, the letter in all its courteous drivel prefigured something vital for the author and thus – intriguing to the addressee. Therefore, despite his minor disinclination, he eventually agreed to pay them the, ostensibly, much awaited visit.

* * *

Having received the permission to leave the school for once from the very benevolent and Christmassy Dumbledore, he travelled to the residence on Saturday evening. The familiar silhouettes of the sculptured columns by the gate were covered with snow, as was the impeccably maintained garden, with the evergreen shrubs of the hedge shyly poking from underneath the white duvets.

The house elf who greeted him, and whose name he struggled to remember, looked particularly pitiable, freezing in the cold, as it must have been forced by his masters to wait for him for hell knew how long. "Salazar's mercy, their dogs have it better than those creatures." he noted, handing the elf his coat after they entered the building, not that there was anything to be done about that, which prompted him to ditch the observation as fast as it had appeared.

The time during the dinner passed expeditiously and in a rather pleasant atmosphere. Of course, never before had he given such a comprehensive account of his Potions classes and the performance of one student in particular in them. Neither had he ever been forced to analyze the wellbeing of that specific student to such an extent, but it seemed like he had managed to navigate through the meanders of that nonsensical prattle without offending the one asking or her son, about which he was glad. He also had to avoid or revealing too much, such as how Draco was, from his perspective, possibly "friends with a muggleborn", since that had little chance of sliding in this house. Narcissa was absolutely relentless in her wish hear about all of the most minuscule achievements of Draco's that even the boy himself had not deemed boast-worthy. How she was able to reconcile the wish for the boy not to have been introduced to him personally for the last 11 years and the one for Severus to only speak of him, and only in superlatives, shall they have the occasion to talk, he had no idea. Well, on second thought, maybe that was an exaggeration, considering that she even inquired about the wellbeing of his mother, which rarely anyone did. Regardless, their conversation felt quite monothematic to him, but it was tolerably so.

The master of the household, however, remained quiet for most part of their discourse, rarely adding a word or two and clearly more absorbed by the turkey on his plate than by his son's, admittedly underwhelming, adventures at Hogwarts as related by his very tepid professor, which created a stark contrast against his wife. He only sparked a little after Narcissa excused herself to go to sleep and thus left them alone to "discuss their affairs". Although, that alteration in his behaviour seemed to be mainly caused by the change of alcoholic beverages available, since the elves had swapped the bottles of white wine with Single Malt Whiskey immediately on their mistress' departure. Apparently the matter at hand called for heavier mental anaesthetics than the usual banquet variety of the Malfoys' table.

After pouring them a glass each and sliding Severus' towards him, Lucius took a fair sip from his before he began talking. His voice sounded even more aloof than it usually would, and, frankly, such a feat was nothing short of a miracle. Notwithstanding, the man set his own standards of pretentiousness.

\- Well... as you already know – he spoke slowly, nonchalantly turning around the silver rings on his fingers, his steel eyes focused on Severus, the smoothly shaven chin up – Me and Narcissa are both delighted that you decided to keep us company on this evening...  
"For heaven's sake, do cut to the chase will you?" he would doubtlessly never attempt to sneer out loud.

\- However, the second reason for that invitation...- "Second one, oh come along."- Is that I would like you to, well, work for me on something.  
That much could have been surmised from the letter alone, but the barely noticeable change of tone was what peaked his interest – very slightly, but hushed, as if there was something to conceal. Severus nodded silently to encourage him to continue.

\- I want... I necessitate a potion, a steady supply of it, to be exact. And one that I need not to either produce or store at the manor. Given your skills, I suppose that you could be capable of fulfilling such a request, in the deference of an old friendship. – Lucius made a pause to lift his glass again and this time empty it before he carried on. – Especially considering that you have already, well, discovered a part of the whole proceeding. Back then in Borgin&Burkes'. – he reminded him answering the unasked question read from his raised brow.  
The blonde man poured another round just for himself, since his guest had a more moderate pace of drinking, and with extreme carefulness. His glass was back at half-empty before he finally inquired:  
\- So, what do you say?

Snape's inquisitive, narrowed eyes met with the cold grey ones and stayed that way, unblinking, while he quickly was making his decision. "He is pleading. Beseeching even, if he had stooped low enough to ask me specifically. Not that a word even roughly resembling an imploration would join his vocabulary of course." he observed. "I have, evidently, been correct in assuming that the impromptu friendliness of his had some ulterior motives. And peculiar ones as it appears."  
\- You have not precisely given me much details to weigh up, Lucius – he replied with a short delay. – If you could perhaps, at the very least specify, the kind of the potion – he did suspect what it was already, but he wanted him to say, if only as a spiteful consolation for himself – And what quantities of it will be prerequisite.

\- Of course, of course – the Malfoy undoubtedly took his query at face value, deriving from his eagerness to explain – Polyjuice it would be. The ingredients, preferably, I would dedicate to my elves to obtain and they could purvey it to you. As for quantities... I would estimate more or less two dozen vials a year, however, ones that last for 6-8 hours per bottle, so larger ones I would assume...  
\- Or merely more condensed – this time he couldn't help but interject.  
It was awfully apparent to his, specialist's eye, that the man before him had not enough experience with the type of potion he was so keen on experimenting with. And most likely was completely convinced otherwise. "Maybe you should hew to anti-mudblood poisons" he did not add.  
\- Yes, possibly... Regardless, the main thing is that I require the potion either not to expire quickly or to be prepared every other week, since it is used rather regularly and therefore in such a schedule it would have to be delivered by means of an owl, presumably.

Lucius stopped talking for a while just as the house elves started milling around, bringing another platter, this time one containing a steak to pair with the alcohol. As the servants gave them a small platter each and he began wondering whether he would be able to finish one, considering the dinner had ended not an hour ago, the Malfoy snapped his fingers at the elf near him for another bottle to appear on the table, since the previous one had not been full to start with and now was definitely drained. Therefore it could not escape Severus' notice that his host had been emptying his third glass of whiskey, while he himself was unhurriedly finishing his first one.

When the elves retreated yet again, Lucius resumed, speaking with the silver dinner knife in the piece of meat before him:  
\- I will pay you, of course – he took a bite and Severus watched him pour another round, this time for the both of them, as he chewed.  
He himself was less than hungry for now and thus ignored the steaming dish before them.  
\- And generously so, just dictate your price.

"Inebriation truly is a pitiful state." he remarked internally, noticing how uncharacteristic for the Malfoy such a sentence was. He did not, however, intend to leech off that carelessness, in view of Narcissa's presence before, knowing, that whatever he would arrange with her husband, would have to go through her before becoming binding.

\- We can determine that at a later date, after I will have calculated the precise amount of time necessary as well as the cost of ingredients other than the ones your elves will be providing.  
\- Does this mean you agree, then?  
"Like I said – utterly pitiful." His aristocratic "friend" truly had never let himself be caught in such a state by Severus, well, at least not in the last couple of years, and as it shaped up so far, was intent on worsening it further.

\- Yes, this does, obviously, mean I will be undertaking the commission – he answered, for the first time during that evening letting his sarcasm into his words.  
"After all, it could prove an engrossing interlude from my usual enterprises to work on improving another recipe." he concluded.

\- I am immensely happy about that – Lucius informed him, lifting his glass – Shall we drink to that?  
"You most definitely shall not, if you will be seeing your wife in the morning. But that is none worry of mine, I presume."  
\- First I wish to thank you for reposing your confidence in me in that matter, Lucius – he said, resenting each and every syllable of that phrase, before he joined the toast and the sparkling glasses clinked against each other.

He very much expected for that to bring an end to the evening, but, as it turned out, the Malfoy had consumed enough whiskey to become rather talkative. Therefore, Severus found out from him in detail about the earlier occurrences that brought his plea on. Amongst those, the fact that they had only happened a couple of days ago caught him by surprise, since it proved him wrong in his earlier conjectures. Around midnight, the blond man, having been steadily keeping the amount of alcohol coursing through his veins on a dangerously high level, finally crossed his threshold of tolerance, to Severus' no longer disguised epicaricacy. "He will remember none of this either way." as he could ascertain easily from the more and more absent gaze of the aristocrat's pewter-coloured eyes.

Apart from having become visibly half-cut and atypically forthcoming, Lucius also began asking questions that from his perspective bordered on intrusive, but were unlikely ill-intended, since if anything, he was a very cordial under the influence.

\- Do you ever visit graves? – was one of them, a throwaway inquiry told in a tone that lacked any seriousness whatsoever.  
\- If you are interested in whether I routinely hang around on cemeteries, then no, I am not a ghoul. But if what you mean some graves in particular, then yes, that sometimes transpires.  
\- Well of course I mean in particular. Of people you held dear. Or people you killed. Or both. I only visit the graves of those from the last category, you see – he said taking yet another sip from his glass.  
Part of Severus wanted to hold him back on that, but the one that found joy in watching him humiliate himself won this imbalanced bout.

"Oh, so that is what this was. A prelude to another round of drunk rambling. Splendid." Severus, still fairly alert and at least two glasses behind on his host, remarked. Yet he did not discourage him from talking, just another incongruity between his cynicism and actual behaviour, rather apparent on that evening, although thankfully with no one perceptive enough to notice nearby.

\- Do you, now?  
\- Yes. As of lately I might be becoming sentimental and... – he suddenly cut off and closed his eyes.

In the face of that, left to the silence, Severus focused on his plate, meticulously sectioning the magically still warm meat into small cubes before he started stabbing them with his for and actually eating, one by one. He only stopped rarely to glance at Lucius, to check whether his head would be falling onto the table anytime soon.

But it didn't at all, because after a while, one so protracted that he had honestly started to suspect the Malfoy had somehow fallen asleep with his jaw resting on his hand, he finally opened his eyes. With an odd, languorous even, look in them he then started speaking. His voice increasingly sprawled, more so even than before that unexpected nap. The over-enunciation characteristic for his state, from "r"-s turning into whirs to "s"-es becoming hisses, interspersed his monologue, the haughty manner of speech thrown out of the metaphorical window a long time ago.

\- And I visited the grrave of... of my firrrst kill, so to say – he continued as if the lengthy pause had never happened - Not too long ago. In passsing, as I was in the city wherre he had been burried, and I had never had the occasion to do so, beforre. And, wonder, the world works in mysteriouss wayss, I met his carbon copy. It's funny how people rresemble each other, even disstant cognates. He had no close family otherr than his fatherrr... who also layss in that grave, it turns out. Sooo that must have been a cousin of his, or maybe a child of one even, ssince he was rrather young. Just like he wass, back then – the corner of his mouth raised to a memory – Well, you knew him, if I rremember corrrectly.

\- I did? – Severus asked with sincere interest.  
It wasn't everyday when he could hear such a confession and despite the deed being decidedly rather horrific in itself, the story sounded quite promising.

\- Yesss, it wass that blond boy, you know, the ssecret and all. The ssecret you kept, and he didn't – his jaws clenched momentarily and then swiftly relaxed again - I'm not possitive you would rremember his face well though, you sseemed prretty traumatissed back then – Lucius added with a smirk.

\- Oh, you were not so sure of yourself either – he mirrored his expression, reminiscing the event in the Hogwarts' greenhouses. – Besides, you are underestimating my younger self exceedingly if you think I would not recall the face of someone you spent most of your time outside the Common with.

\- Well, isn't that trrrue. But I had my rreasonss... – the blonde began explaining himself.  
He truly did barely resemble his sober persona in terms of demeanour.

\- Behind the fear, the infatuation or the manslaughter? – Snape inquired a tad mockingly.

\- All of thoose, actually. But I meant the panic in parrticular. Yoou knew how my fatherr was... isss. Well, wass, conssiderring how he changed when he passed everrything onto me. Besidesss... he sstopped, well – Lucius didn't need to say that part, an exchange of knowing looks was enough – exactly afterr I got rrid of Neil. Quite too literrally – he let out an acerbic laugh. – He, and I doo mean my fatherr, beforre you assk, posssibly saved me from Azkaaban forr that one, blesss hiss damned ssoul. He hid my wand and got rrid of the murrder-weapon. Took me morre than a yearr to notice.

"Amongst your eminent virtues, exceptional sharpness has never been one, has it?" Severus smiled ironically, but he remained silent.

\- Bought me anotherr, of course, a Frrench one, aspen - his host continued after another mouthful of whiskey, oblivious to the jeer. – Honestly, I was shoocked he werren't the leasst bit mad about me having losst the prrevious one, I recall. Which was surrrprising, you know, he'd usually get furriouss at the ssmallest thing, esspecially back afterr he'd found out, but then he didn't. That summerr it just ceased, sslowly though, not overrnight, but it did. And the wand, well, it found itss way back to me when I needed it mosst, itss ashess now lay somewherre along with mudbloodsss' ones. The Frrench one he doess use sstill, as farr as I know. Ssince I got thiss one, that iss – on his last words he stabbed the air viciously with the spike of his wand, causing Severus to slightly shift aside to avoid being hit with a random outburst of magic.

\- If you would mind not pointing that thing at me in your state, I would be absolutely elated – he advised Lucius, simultaneously pushing the bottle, which once again caught the blond wizard's attention outside of his reach.  
"He's had one too many, that much would be apparent to a marble dome." he stated the obvious in his mind.

* * *

June/July 1973

Lucius never heard from Neil again after what happened in April.  
Despite his efforts to confront him, which bordered on desperation, he rarely even could see a glimpse of his dark blond locks in the hallways of Hogwarts, as the mudblood coward was doing his best to hide from him. The more the boy was showing signs of fear of him, the more the Malfoy's fury grew, finally reaching a threshold at which he truly was on the verge of doing something horrible and, more worryingly, stupid in its abruptness. The monthly prefects' meetings had become nightmare. At least he didn't have to be the one to devise methods of avoiding them – the Huffle was succeeding at doing that himself, attending only one of the three they had left. Frankly, even in his uncontrollable rage, Lucius took that with something akin to relief, just like he did the fact that their houses never had lessons together. He couldn't trust himself on this, not fully convinced that he would be actually able to face the boy calmly and haughtily, like he wished to; and if he lost his temper then it would doubtlessly result in another scandalous stunt, this time one involving a student dying in front of the whole class by his wand.

The betrayal left its markings on Lucius' character, scars even, and ones that were not about to disappear anytime soon; just like the bruises his father inflicted on him back when he found out, still there – a painful remainder of his mistakes.  
He went through all of the stages of loss subsequently and at a rather rapid pace, from apathy and despondence to fiery anger. Then, finally, somewhere towards the end of the school year he reached acceptance, in his case presenting as the cool, indifferent almost, longing for vengeance. As he tamed his emotions and staggered into the abyss of contemplating the situation more coldly (although still quite obsessively), he was painfully reminded of the maxim his father liked to repeat – that in this world one could either be a victim or the oppressor. With it came, of course, the bitter realisation, that he turned out to be the first thing. And to somebody so pathetic, a mudblood, a weakling, a nobody. The insult that this bore could equal the heartbreak itself in its hurtfulness. He swore to himself that would never happen again.

It was more noticeable in September, after the happenings of the summer holidays, than it was back at the end of June, but he was the kinder version of his father no more, suddenly inclined to mock, push around or even duel other students for any little reason, even those in his own House, which could never had been said about him before. The hate towards muggle-borns he was always expected by his family to hold and which he perhaps sometimes struggled to truly represent before, suddenly ceased being a problem to him. "That treacherous, perfidious, inconstant fucking scum" as he had made a habit of calling the blond boy in his mind, was not even a mudblood himself, his deceased mother being the first witch in the family, but that didn't stop Lucius from associating his worst characteristics with simply being not of pure blood.

Because of all this, that year he, the beloved Slytherin prefect, the talented student with not a single grade below Exceeds Expectations, took the arrival of June with alleviation he had never felt before. Finally, he was free from the place that was partially responsible for bringing him such misery. Nobody at the school knew, thankfully; little Sev could keep a secret much better than the parties involved, as it turned out, but that didn't help much. Unable to talk about it to anyone, since Neil had been the person he would normally confide in, he had to bury his pain inside him, which resulted in spending the whole month of May fending off questions about the "unhealthy looking dark circles under his eyes", "sudden scholarly mishaps" and "atypically low mood". Then, either the symptoms of his distress retreated or the people have, since he established early on and in a rather firm way, that he was ready to curse anyone who'd dare to make any intrusive comments about him.

To add insult to injury, by the second week of June he found out, by chance obviously, because he would never explicitly show interest in what was going on in the Hufflepuff House and definitely not lately, that his freckled "friend" was in a relationship out of the sudden. With some brown-haired hussy from his own house, whoever she was. That was the nail in the coffin, for sure, the last straw breaking on the back of a proud, arrogant pureblood that his father so fiercely wanted him to be. But the coffin, as Lucius had decided, wasn't going to be his.

When the summer holidays came, locked in his dark chamber on the second floor of the Malfoy manor, alone and wrapped up in his thoughts for days, he had plenty of time to come to a conclusion that there was only one way this could end that didn't include him having to "just suffer through it". He wasn't some kind of a pathetic martyr to just patiently tremble in pain, to count the wounds on his thighs and ribs from his lately unusually tense father, while Neil came out of it unscathed. He was the one who should have paid the price. Not Lucius.

That conviction, deeply rooted in the pride he possessed, that he was born and brought up to have, was what led to the carefully devised plan on perfecting which he spent the greater part of July. Once the very idea of revenge formed in his mind, he got immediately consumed by it, possessed by it even, possibly because he longed to fill the hollow space in his mind left by the loss, and if so - then he definitely succeeded. He would spend hours in the library of the manor, searching for spells and substances that could prove useful and attracting the attention of his mother, whose questions about his a tad unusual behaviour he had to fob off on numerous occasions. But that didn't stop him. Little could, at that point. He even looked through his father's guarded collection of magical artefacts before he eventually chose the fashion in which he wanted to carry the deed out.

It really was a blessing that this had not happened earlier. That, apart from the obvious reasons, was because he now fell under the restrictions against underage wizardry no more and therefore didn't have to overcome that obstacle amongst others, such as the not quite allowed use of his father's dark magic books and the weapon he planned to borrow from him without his knowledge.

He knew very well where to find Neil during the vacations. Sooner or later he and his dad were guaranteed to visit the old hut by the river, where the two of them spent time last year. All he had to do was to wait. Every other day, in the evening, he would borrow one of his father's Thestrals, having been schooled how to act around them and even ride them despite not being able to actually see them, and fly to check on the small house, hidden in the depths of a forest. In the last week of July, he noticed the smoke coming out of the house's brick chimney against the navy and yet starless sky.  
\- Finally – he whispered, tightening his grip on the Thestrals' mane, over a hundred metres to the ground, with his silvery hair flowing in the wind and a shiver of excitement creeping through his skin.

The next morning after breakfast, for which, for the first time this summer, he managed to eat more than a single piece of bread, he immediately took to the stable, all the things he needed already in the pockets of his robe. If he remembered correctly and nothing had changed – the two men should be out by the stream fishing at least until 3 o'clock, so he had plenty of time to carry out his plan to finally confront his... "ex-lover". Lucius' jaw tensed at the term appearing in his head. But that was exactly what he was, after all, although the young Malfoy didn't consider it to be a mere personal squabble as much as he saw it as a matter of pride, tarnished reputation, even if in his father's eyes only, and to him subjectively - a treason even. Treason in the small war he was supposed to keep fighting all his life, less fiercely after Abraxas' moving out of the Manor, but nevertheless – forever, and in which he had hoped to be allied with the scarce number of people he trusted. Unfortunately, now he was forced to reconsider that naive belief of his, since as it turned out, the one he trusted most decided to stick a knife in his back. Now was his time to stick his.

The invisible horse swooped over the treetops, docking their branches with its wings while she landed in the clearing, with the rustle of leaves around them. Lucius jumped off the Thestral's back, patting her gently on the cold, hairless neck. He left the mare with her black harness, his only means of knowing where she was standing, tied to a birch tree and slinked towards the sound of water. He saw the two men on the other side of the river from behind the shrubs, and with a sting in his chest he realised that Neil did not look the least bit distressed. In fact, he seemed happy. The wrath in him exploded, but he was aware that for the sake of the plan he had to restrain himself. He couldn't even be sure that the other wizard wasn't armed with a wand, after all; although in this idyllic scenery and with his muggle father with him it was hardly possible, considering his gullible nature.

He waited for the right moment, and when the freckled boy was busy taking the fish-filled bucket inside the house to empty it, he emerged from beyond the trees, wand drawn at the older Mr. Darrow. He stunned, then paralysed the unsuspecting man with a curse he had been practising on poor manor's rats and mice, and threw him into the stream with another spell. When the worried son, upon hearing the ruckus the magic caused, came to his rescue, it was already too late, as the rapid stream had already taken his inert body away.

Lucius, now standing in the water, his dark green lightweight robe flowing in the waves, smiled when he saw the younger Darrow come out from behind the trees. He had waited for this moment, every now and then imagining it when he kept mulling over the betrayal in his mind over the last three months. The only thing that has changed was how his intentions crystallized, because now, face to face with the other boy, the slightly shorter than him, angel-faced terrified Hufflepuff, he finally felt sure what he wanted to do. And, surprisingly, that was not kissing him on the lips, opened to utter a scream for help that froze in his throat, although that idea also flashed in his brain. He made his way through to the other side of the river, stepping carefully on the slippery stones underneath him, his drenched robe trailing behind. He got even closer, just at the length of an outstretched arm to him, before Neil got out of his stupor.

\- What have you done to my dad?! – his peachy cheeks turned strawberry-red, a lock of hair moving to his forehead as he yelled at him and backed away a step or two.  
"Fear and anger really look good on him" Lucius observed coolly. The Hufflepuff's hand quickly dived into the pocket of his jeans, probably in search of a wand and he prepared to counter, but, unsurprisingly, the mudblood didn't find one. The pupils of his warm amber eyes dilated when he realised that he was defenceless, while Malfoy took another step towards him.  
\- What kind of a pathetic wizard forgets his wand? – the tone was perfectly level, his voice a bit raspy perhaps.  
– Oh, it slipped my mind... – his lips twisted into a smirk - You're no wizard, Neil, you're a mediocre rat, that's what you are. Perhaps I should make you into one – he said, raising his wand to his head.  
The shorter boy was still speechless, barely able to do anything, but he managed to dodge what must have been a transfiguration spell with accidental magic, in the only time he was able to summon it this afternoon, and roll over to the grass above the pebble-filled beach.  
\- What do you think you're doing? – this time Lucius didn't give him enough time to react, tying him down with Incancerous.  
\- You're not going anywhere ever again, may I have you know – he walked up to him, now standing over his head and leaning down to move the hairs out of his freckled face, causing him to flinch – Never again.

\- You see, I didn't really want to transfigure you. I'd rather watch you in your last moments in the same body I grew to hate – he explained with a lie woven tightly into the truth, straightening back up and repeating his threat, which clearly had not yet been understood by the other boy – But first if you would be so kind as to tell me, why did you spill everything to my father? Had you been tortured?

The goldish-brown eyes met with his grey ones, trying to read from them what he wanted to hear, but it was futile. He was more in control over his own feelings than he usually were, firmly holding them on a mental leash, and he probably could even gain control over his victim's memories, if he wanted to invade them. But he didn't find it necessary to. Fear, genuine fear that he aspired to instil in Neil, if he hadn't already, was better than any truth serum or Legilimency spell.

He had to get the confession out of him, as he wasn't keen on solely relying on his father's account on this, perfectly able to imagine that Abraxas could engineer a scenario to turn him against the perceived threat, the half-muggle that was demoralising his son. And if that were so, Lucius would rather find out before punishing him that he was innocent. Not that he would be spared completely then, but the level of the vengeance's severity could be adjusted. Even if only slightly, since supposing that Abraxas truly got it out him with some inhumane method of his, he needn't have avoided Lucius for all this time. At least that was so in his understanding; though in all honesty the mind of a good-natured person such as Neil was always an enigma to the platinum blond boy, even more in the years to come.

\- If you lie I will know – he added, just before Neil opened his mouth to answer.

\- I... I wasn't t-t-tortured. He just ask-k-k...asked. But your dad is so... so... t-t-t-errifying. And what..t-t were I to t-t-tell him... – he sounded so desperate in his attempt to justify his error, so sincere in his stammering. – I didn't... want – he accentuated that word, and it almost turned into a sob – to do t-t-that. I... I didn't know what... to do. I was so afraid of him... He just-t-t asked... asked and... pierced me with t-t-those ruthless eyes. And... and I told... I told him. I was so afraid... – he repeated himself, incoherently.

"Pathetic. My father was right." his attacker concluded, upon mentally comparing the two accounts of the event. "Not only no curse, he didn't even have to threaten him with anything. Salazar's mercy, why did I have to fall in love with a wimp?". This was another of the unintentional insults towards him, only amplifying his anger.

\- I was so... so.. scared-d-d – Neil said again, apparently terrified by his silence.  
\- More than you are now? – Lucius inquired in a whisper, his menacing smile now revealing pearl white teeth.

He didn't need to wait for him to respond to know the answer. The wheat-blond boy was cowering on the ground, under the ropes, tears of worry and fear gathering in his eyes, the full severity of his situation in, from his limited muggle perspective, its movie-like bizarreness, finally reaching through to him. Not knowing what to do and possibly not wanting to risk enraging Lucius further by either agreeing that he was horrifying or denying it and therefore possibly offending him, he stayed silent, trying to swallow his own snivelling. If he thought that second thing, then he would indeed not be mistaken; not that it could help him. Neither could the apologetic faint smile which painted on his face when he said:  
\- I'm sorry, Lucius, I'm so sorry. I didn't want nothing bad to happen to you because of it. I hoped nothing did – he kept apologising, somehow misinterpreting his sardonic expression as that of hurt – It... it's my fault if it did. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry... – finally his eyes started overflowing, tears rolling down his red cheeks.  
"Poor, naive idiot. Don't you know that admitting you're guilty is the worst thing you can do?" Malfoy judged him, his fingers clasping around the handle of the dagger in his pocket, breath getting shallow, warm air coming through his flared nostrils.

Unluckily for Neil, he wasn't taught to forgive. And the whimpering boy, from his perspective, was relentless in digging his own grave. Now, still hoping to appease him instead of focusing on something reasonable, like trying to free himself, he decided to add:  
\- I loved you. Hell, I still love you. But I was just too afraid...  
"Oh, loved me, you have? Loved me! You pitiful scum, you have not loved me, you've betrayed me. And then discarded me like I were nobody." rage exploded in his brain, engulfing it in fire, but his lips somehow remained sealed, twisted in a louring manner.

Lucius' father, an avid collector of enchanted artefacts of all sorts, had the useful habit of also keeping books describing their origins and the purposes they could serve in the huge library down in the manor, in the section dedicated to the Dark Arts, which he had visited numerous times during this year's vacations. Therefore, the job of finding something that would be ideal for his concept proved fairly easy. The silver blade that now got out of its black sheath and happily glistened in the sun, was particularly famous for leaving wounds that looked like they were the work of an animal, rather than a human. The kind of animal, as it was said in the purple-covered tome, depended on the character of the weapon's user.

When he stabbed the bonded boy for the first time, his head twitching, the rose-coloured lips wincing, the shriek that escaped from them filling Lucius' ears, he almost immediately saw the wound turn into clear, unscathed skin. Instead, a small dent formed in Neil's skull. He was still conscious, his amber eyes full of disbelief and pain, wordlessly pleading for the Malfoy to stop. But he wasn't planning to. The second hit was better measured, hitting the artery and causing the blood to spatter all over his face and clothes, then immediately changing into another dent. The freckled skin was momentarily speckled with red, just as his own, and as he dealt the last blow to his neck, he leaned down to kiss it of his lips, then stood back up to watch Neil's body tremble and squirm in the last spasm of agony. He then wiped the blade against his own robe, figuring it was already all bloodied up anyways, made the ropes disappear and walked away, wading swiftly through the stream, headed back to the clearing.

Upon his arrival the horse shook her dark grey, skeletal head, the attentive pupil-less eyes tracing the young Malfoy as he approached, immediately having realised that it could now be seen by him. She looked majestic in the early afternoon's gleam, the rays of sun slinging on the black slick scales mixed with short fur covering the corpse that was her body. She neighed to greet him, which she had rarely done before and he gave her a rather crooked smile. Then, he untied the harness and let the animal almost touch his face with her nostrils, enticed by the smell of blood, the one thing the enchantment didn't take away, to which he was sort of thankful.  
\- Come on, Laruam, our job here is done – he addressed the mare, as he mounted her and run his fingers through her black mane.

When they came back, after he had left the horse with the rest of the herd, who had already been let out for the day, in the forest on Malfoys' grounds, he went straight to his chamber to change into another robe and wash away the blood from his face, although he was, actually, rather disgruntled that he had to part with that new addition to his handsome features, adding a literal droplet of colour perhaps. While he was busy admiring himself in the silver-framed mirror in the 2nd floor's corridor, convinced nobody should be present in the house at that time, his father managed to creep behind him. Upon noticing him, at first he felt panic, well aware that he had a few incriminating things both on him and in his pockets, his throat clenched when he tried to greet him in a poised voice, but Abraxas acted as if he were completely oblivious of the specks of blood covering his son's pale face.  
\- Good morning, Lucius. As you can see, I have arrived a little earlier than I had expected.  
\- Good morning, father. What a pleasant surprise that is – he sounded normal, he hoped he did at least.  
After that meaningless exchange, he evacuated quickly to his chamber and disposed of everything that should not have made its place inside it, starting with the books and the dagger, now a lot more careful not to be seen by anyone.

Whether it was the enchantments' work that his father did not observe anything suspicious about him, he never bothered to find out. Showing as little interest in the case of his former-friend's death as possible, he never heard that the muggle-carried investigation found out that he had been killed by a cassowary, a bird very much not native to United Kingdom or Europe even. Or that Mr. Darrow, who somehow avoided drowning and after leaving the muggle-hospital claimed to have recollected being attacked by a wizard, begged the Ministry through the hands of Headmaster Dumbledore - the only connection he had to the magical world, to conduct their own examination; and that the Ministry, despite Dumbledore's eagerness to help, never agreed to do it. Or that the man died shortly after, reportedly having hanged himself, although, as for a hangman, he had an awful lot of poison in his system, the same exact one that filled the vials in a black cabinet in Abraxas' study and was responsible for the violet spots on Lucius' body, in the past.

* * *

December 1991

As he predicted correctly just a moment before it happened, when the Malfoy was done with telling the riveting part of the tale regarding his wands, he shortly blacked out. Severus managed to take the platter away along with the snake-headed wand with a flick of his, just in time for Lucius' high forehead to land on the table.

"Splendid. Wonderful. If this is what a lord gets drunk like..." he sighed deeply, getting up from the table. He had no intention, however, of waking the man up, not sure that he would remain just as cordial if brutally blinded by a reviving spell.  
"Dobby? Was it Dobby? That or something of the kind..." he wondered before he called out to the house elves for them to assistance in transporting their master to a bed. He figured it best to avoid letting them barge into the bedroom in which Narcissa was probably sound asleep and thus asked them to take the unconscious man to a guest one closest to his study. Lucius' elf, looking rather shocked that his master's friend would use his name instead of just shouting for "the creature" to come, as Snape had witnessed some of the birthday guests' do in the past, was helpful, although indeed not very clever, considering that he apparated all three of them to the chamber, which was not exactly the content of Snape's order.

Worst of all, it allowed him to be present when the blond lord regained his consciousness, possibly as the adverse effect of being side-alonged. When Snape tried to make a precipitous exit, caring little about whether his elf would leave his master to sleep on the floor, or the sofa, since that was where he initially landed, Lucius' fingers clasped on his arm. He winced in pain as the silver rings dug into his skin through the robe.

\- You'rre leaving? – the Malfoy asked.  
\- Trying to, yes. You are, however, currently preventing me from doing so – he noted, hoping that would prompt him to lighten the grasp, which despite his state was evidently not weakened.  
\- What arre yoour meanss of transport, if I may assk?  
\- Apparition – he answered curtly, still trying to brush him off.  
\- Arren't yoou too intoxicated forr that?

"You should talk..." he thought with a bit of pity. Severus wasn't completely convinced that this was a good idea either, given his own alcohol intake. There was no outdrinking the host tonight, obviously, but he knew he would be risking splinching himself to bits on his way to Hogsmeade. Given that he had not any other means of coming back, however, he was quite willing to take that gamble. Therefore, he shook his head firmly, first ensuring that Lucius had not fallen back asleep and thus was able to see his answer.

\- You arre awarre that you can sstay at the manorr, right? – the Malfoy offered with a smile and drunken kindness.  
"And wake up tomorrow to be embarrassed for this unabashed inebriety both on your and my own behalf in front of your presumably vehement wife? A tremendous idea." For some reason he decided to spare the aristocrat that remark, which would doubtless wipe the naive grin of his face and replied instead, striving to sound polite:  
\- No, I shall be perfectly fine, thank you. I have had quite a lot of practice, to be frank.  
That must have reassured the blond man, since his fingers slowly retreated from Severus' thin arm.  
\- Well then... I wish you ssafe trravelss, Sseveruss - he said, sounding very much snake-like, on shaking his hand - And do expect an owl frrom me laterr next week.

After saying his goodbyes and taking his winter coat from the, surprisingly, already prepared Dobby, he apparated to Hogsmeade as planned. When he arrived, fortunately having avoided the fate of bleeding to death with a splinched artery, Lucius Malfoy, as one could easily presume, was already snoring on the soft satin pillows on the queen size bed in the guest bedroom, fondly reminiscing his horrid doings.


	8. Books on magic

Two girls were sitting in the library, both with dark curls, although ones completely differing in structure, the one closer to the door with ebony skin to match hers, and her friend beside her pale as a piece of chalk, with strands of hairs just as pale as her skin woven into her mane. The one closer to the door, who was a Gryffindor, as signified by the red emblems on her uniform, had a worn, small tome with minuscule lettering inside open before her. On her right, the Slytherin, whose longer locks rested on the green hood, was taking notes from one on Transfiguration, doodling over her notebook and thus attracting the miffed scrutiny of Madame Pince, who was circling around the desks in a similar way Snape would in Potions class – just yearning to observe something to find fault with. Hermione could understand that, however, more so perhaps than she did the overly critical Potions' Master – it was very wrong to damage books.  
However, Elena was not currently damaging anything, yet when she whispered something to her, commenting on the author's tone, Madame Pince leaped to them, using it as an excuse to finally throw the Slytherin, with her quill posing a potential danger her precious book collection, out of the library. Hermione, begrudgingly, since she had to part with her fascinating reading, came with her.

\- Not again – moaned El the second they were safely out of Madame Pince's hearing range outside.  
\- Honestly, you kind of provoked it by being so persistent with the drawing thing – Hermione acknowledged – You're worse than Ron, really – she added, and her friend huffed.  
\- Do you really have to do that though? – she then asked, more kindly, to appease her.  
She didn't want her to be offended, just the perspective of getting on Madame Pince's nerves enough to truly earn them a ban on entering the library.

\- I don't decide to do it, you know – her friend explained herself – What can I say, I've read better, even the Herbology thing I've got from Ada is more interesting to me, so my mind drifts off. Besides, it's not like she can ban us from coming in, – she understood her concern without Hermione having to explain it out loud - cause I'm not doing anything wrong.  
Elena shrugged, and Hermione sent her a look pleading for her to not treat unspoken rules so lightly.  
\- But I'll try to fight it – she surrendered under her gaze finally.  
\- By the way, haven't you said you've got something to tell me? – Elena said next, before they headed towards the Study Hall.

"Oh yes, right, the Snape thing! I almost forgot!" Hermione thought to herself. After a heated discussion she had finally convinced Harry and Ron that it was safe to tell Elena and was now supposed to that, alone, since that had much more chances of working out. She wanted to have her weigh in on this, since she, as a Slytherin, was less biased against him than Hermione and her housemates had the reason to be, and on top of that – had a broader perspective. After all, she had to be meeting him at least as often as they did McGonagall, right? So things such as the professor having a bitten leg would surely catch her watchful eye. In the silence of the corridor, yet still in a hushed voice, Hermione told her friend the whole story of the Philosopher's Stone as she knew it, embellishing it with the details of their suppositions, having her make a promise before that she would tell nobody. "Especially not Draco" as Harry phrased it before he reluctantly agreed that she could be informed about it all.

To her complete lack of surprise, Elena, who generally seemed to like Potions classes and her Head of House as much as that "awfully mean... No! It's still a teacher and I shouldn't think that." man was to be liked, or tolerated at least, reacted to their suspicions with a chuckle.  
\- Snape evil? – she marvelled once she managed to get a hold of herself - Hah... I mean, sure, as much as my grandma is.  
\- What has you grandma to do with it? – Hermione inquired, quite dumbfounded.

The question was all her friend needed to start one of her monologues.  
Hermione had thought, quite a time ago, that she could really use to be more breviloquent in her speech, but it would be far too unkind to tell her that, even though Elena herself didn't seem to take matters of hurtful comments too seriously, considering her reactions to the bullying in Slytherin. Even the thought of what she had to endure in her own House at first and what she simply started regarding as the normal behaviour of her housemates made Hermione quake with anger. The slurs, the hidden possessions, the water buckets landing on her face on the rare occasion that it weren't her bird's screeching that woke her up – the Slytherin told her all about it. Hermione of course, suggested to her that something should be done on that matter, maybe a visit to the Head of House to tell on them could do – as she proposed, but Elena responded with a shrug and a "More than half the house's like that, what will Snape do? Throw me out?". At the moment, however, El was not relating to her the horrible treatment she received from Pansy or the older girls, but some rather happy-sounding anecdote about her family. How it related to the case of Snape, Hermione were to find out soon.

\- Well, she's the nearest thing to him I know. She lives in Spain so I don't see her but during vacations, but she really is... interesting. Hates grandpa, though he's dead already, hates my dad and uncle Lorenzo, hates my mum even, loathes me and my cousin, just as well. Generally speaking she acts like she hates everyone, but then she'll like cook you dinner when you're ill, only she'll deliver it with a "Y had to work for dos hours to feed you, maldito perezoso."- she said, mimicking an accent badly. - Something of the kind. Which is basically what Snape does in the House. You should have seen him breaking up a party on Halloween. The funniest sight ever, but he didn't even properly punish the perpetrators I think, apart from making their bottles of butter beer keep biting them for a few hours, that is.

\- Sure, but that is still just in Slytherin, right? He's clearly biased a bit – Hermione decided to touch at that topic, despite her own doubts about whether it was a good idea to do so.  
Out of all the teachers they had, Snape was probably most explicitly unfair with how he favoured some and punished others for the littlest things. Since Elena was in the first group by default due to her House affiliation, she might not have noticed, so the Gryffindor decided to be rather cautious with this accusation, ready to mitigate herself if necessary, but it fortunately turned out not to be.

\- I'm not saying he's not. One of these days I swear I'll tell him to give my points to you, when he ignores your raised hand in Potions – Elena said.

Truth was, she was already doing enough in that field, by willingly stopping herself from answering to questions Hermione was convinced she too knew the answer to as well, since they were sometimes ones that they had studied together for. Elena was deliberately doing that, so that the professor had no other option but to chose her Gryffindor counterpart, which he only resorted to if there were no, absolutely no, other volunteers, and even then she rarely got half as much points as she could guess a Slytherin would. Hermione was very grateful to her for that, she also often used it as an example against Ron's beliefs that all Snakes were playing a rigged game and gleefully so.

\- And Ada tells me it's no better with Ravens actually – the girl continued, every now and then checking for Hermione's nodding to be sure she was still being listened to - I mean he does favour them against Hufflepuff, but they used to have lessons with Slytherin in one year due to some timetable changes and they had it almost as bad as all of you. Not that – she stressed the word exceedingly - bad, though. So I'd say it's Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Huffle, then void as empty as Snape's list of students he likes, and finally Gryffindor. So yeah, I have noticed that, if you were wondering. But getting back to the main topic: I'd argue you are biased too. Or not like you, you, Hermione – she instantly cleared up – but like you, the Gryffindors. And so am I, but maybe we'll like reach the happy medium together. First, the thing about the leg. I'm surprised I haven't told you about that already, I certainly thought I did. By the way maybe we should sit? – she gestured to the bench under the nearest window and Hermione nodded.

\- I was looking for you that day on Halloween – she said, reclining on the bench as if it were a sofa, after previously looking around, possibly for teachers that could carpet her or it – and I of course blacked out running. And, also of course, Snape found me. Not on the floor this time, though I somehow feel like he knows about that anyways, but never mind. And he was limping then, indeed, coming from the staircase. Though I don't know if from up or downstairs, so in that I won't help you. But are you sure he was bitten? I didn't see blood... Though, on black you wouldn't see it that well and it was rather dark. I thought it was the troll, or maybe another – she thought out loud – But yeah, you might be right on that. I still don't believe he was there to steal the Stone or something, but yeah, it's not impossible that he fought... What was his name?

\- Fluffy – Hermione completed the sentence obligingly, hoping that she'd move on quickly and continue.  
\- Yeah, could have fought Fluffy, for sure. What kind of breed is that Fluffy, by the way?  
Hermione shot her a scolding look as she answered:  
\- Three-headed dog. I doubt there's breeds to it.  
\- Hm... Why would there not be breeds though? – Elena was apparently not willing to ditch the topic - Wonder if Pince would let me back in to check later...

\- El! – Hermione's fingers flicked before her friend's eyes – The Snape topic. We only have like 15 minutes before we have to get to the Hall to do the Charms homework, especially since, as I assume, you'll be tutoring Draco later again, won't you?

\- Yup, I probably will. He even got us House points in Herbology lately, and he's all A's and at best and, of course, no volunteering without me – her chin lifted up with pride. – But yes, you're right. So then, what were I on? Oh, the leg. Next thing's the broom, right? Are you sure it was him? He hates Harry loads, for whatever reason, but I mean, not enough to kill him, I wouldn't think. He seems fairly harmless most of the time.

\- Harmless?! – considering what El said earlier, Hermione was really shocked to find out that, with all of those abuses of power, the bickering at Harry and Neville, the blatant favouritism finally, she'd use that exact word to describe him.

\- Well, what do you won't me to say? He's not nice, but if you have skin thick enough...

\- Surely you can't really mean that everybody should endure this? You are aware that what's going in your House, like against you and such, that it is horrible, right?

\- Sure... – she didn't sound convinced - Just I used to have that at the normal school too, though not for long, actually – she smiled to her thoughts. – Hm... – El pondered for a few seconds – Now that you say it, maybe the main wrong thing actually is that Snape is a teacher and he's just as mean to Harry as Pansy is to me. I can ignore Pansy, all day long, but she's not going to grade my essays, will she? – Elena concluded with a sort of "Eureka!"-like accentuation at the end.

\- Exactly! – Hermione agreed cheerfully, though she quickly reminded herself not to let El plunge into another monologue. - So... in the end... – she prompted her obligingly, still tracing the passing time in her mind.

\- In the end – Elena's voice morphed into what she must have reckoned as authoritative, since it brought to Hermione's mind the judge shows her own grandma would sometimes have on TV and smiled heartily at the impression – I would deem Professor Snape not evil. Though I'd still be wary of him if I were all of you. Especially Harry. You said he finds that the scar's warning him about things, right? – Hermione nodded to that – So maybe he should trust it, just to be sure – she finished and leaped from the bench and onto her feet.

\- To the Study Hall now, right? – El wanted her confirmation, before she took her things from the floor.  
\- Yes – she said plainly, with a grin as she lifted her own schoolbag.  
It was nice to have someone, who did not ask such a question with either gloom or irony in their tone, around.

* * *

Later that day, a whole lot later, actually, when after particularly boring D.A.D.A. class and a few hours in the library with her Gryffindor friend, Elena headed to Snape's office for her detention, since that week it was Snape on Monday, McGonagall on Friday. Not the best start, but an even worse end to it, taking into account that thee Transfiguration professor had started being wary of her after that offhand question of hers back in November. Therefore out of the two teachers she preferred the indifference and silence interspersed with spiteful comments on her, flawed, way of preparing the ingredients, of the gloomy Potion's Master, to the attentiveness of the Head of Gryffindor, who despite as well being strict and definitely looking like she was suffering through hell when hearing her tattle, almost encouraged it - probably in the hopes of El letting something slip and telling her what she shouldn't have. Such a thing never happened, however. She was no doubt chatty, but it didn't mean she had no control of what she was saying, even if her disputants sometimes thought otherwise.

It was to be her first one without Draco and Pansy though and the idea of being alone with the professor did make her a bit nervous, especially considering all the stuff Hermione told her earlier. Maybe Draco was right in that hanging around the Lions would do her no good, or maybe the smart girl was and she would soon be locked for two hours in the dark, cramped office filled with shelves full of various potions' compounds, with an evil wizard who wanted to steal the Stone or hurt Harry.

"Well, wasting time to ponder over it can't help either way, can it?" she asked herself. Besides, as she just realised, she was on the verge of being late already. And, deriving from how he once threw a Hufflepuff student out of the class with 50 points taken from the House for being 15 minutes late, as she heard from Felicia, professor Snape wasn't a fan of either stragglers or such behaviour in general.

Despite her effort to stride as fast as she could, more sure in her speed since she had been lately equipped with the potions that should prevent her from blacking out, she arrived at the door in the dungeon precisely seventy-five seconds later than she should have. It did not go unnoticed.

She pushed the heavy door carefully, the way she had observed Snape open it; although he, of course, did it with magic. Inside, the professor was sitting at his desk in the dim light of the candles beside him, whose flames grew when she entered. He was looking thoroughly unimpressed.

\- Ms. Castel. What a joy to have you grace me with your presence finally – she heard the sarcastic remark instead of a greeting.  
His finger stabbed the air and pointed to the hand of the clock above the entrance behind her, her eyes followed obediently and she turned .  
\- Correct me if I am wrong, but even a particularly dense first grader should be able to differentiate between 30 and 32, should they not? – the professor smirked bitterly as he jeered at her.  
She automatically nodded, which, for some reason, enraged him further. "He is exaggerating though" Elena noted, but sensibly, decided to keep it to herself. "It's barely two minutes, no reason to be mad" she thought, as she was fighting to restrain a defiant smile from appearing, knowing better than to jar an already exasperated teacher.

– I take that the previous detention proved far too relaxing for a punishment – Snape amended in his signature acerbic tone. – Therefore I am reminding you, Castel, that such cosseting will not be taking place in here.  
\- I am sorry, professor, I got a bit...  
\- Spare me the jabberwocky, Castel, and get to work.  
"Somebody's in quite the mood today" she judged, not risking saying another thing, as she watched attentively when Snape was putting out the ingredients from the cupboard and placing him on the vacated part of his desk that were to be used as a working space.

The next hour went by on cutting asphodel root for drying, which she had already practiced those two weeks ago and therefore was now able to do it correctly, as signified by the lack of snide comments. Next she went on to dismembering dragonflies, so that their thoraxes could be extracted unscathed, and that, so to say, did not go quite as well.

\- Why are you slicing it, Castel? – she heard the quiet voice of the professor, after she took the first insect and started preparing it.  
He had left the uncomfortable-looking chair in front of her and having crept around the desk, was now standing beside her.  
"I am not slicing anything, I am cutting the legs off, like I should be." Elena thought to herself. She knew there was no use arguing, however, especially considering that the Master was indeed in one of his least lenient frames of mind.

He snatched the knife from her hand and started doing it himself, the blade moving swiftly in his bony fingers. She observed it with concentration, hoping she would be able to imitate that technique.  
\- Like that. Or else you will ruin it – he instructed her curtly, returning to his side of the table.

The professor had no further barbs to throw at her, surprisingly, and so complete quiet it was, in the dungeon's chamber, interrupted only by the sound of the blade tapping against a board. That was at least until at the very end, before she expected to be dismissed, he asked her a question that had little to do with anything, honestly, and confused her remarkably.

\- Your aunt is Mrs. Aneira Hughes-Eisenhauer, is that right? – Snape inquired abruptly, about two minutes to the end of the second hour, rising his head from above the pile of documents that lay before him.  
He did not enjoy wasting time on just supervising the student, evidently. The other times, as she recalled, he also was usually skimming through heaps of student's homework during the detention time.

\- Eisenberg – she corrected the teacher, earning a threatening gaze.  
She countered it with smile and her own gaping, while she nodded.

\- Yes... – for a second she thought he would continue, but his eyes only kept piercing her keenly, a strand of long black hair dividing his pale face into two equally unreadable parts.  
His intentions were completely unclear to her, although the notion that it could be about blood purity again rang in her head loudly.

So deafeningly occupying that suspicion was, actually, that she barely noticed how she out of the blue began to think about her family tree. Even the parts of it that she was not so aware she recalled herself. She saw her grandma showing her a family photo, she was four or five, sitting on her warm knees. Then - her dad helping her prepare a project for school in 2nd grade, taking out some folders with documents in them and Anne, bothering them as they tried to plan how to make use of the space on the sheet they had left. Last, her mum and aunt quarrelling through the phone, her mother's shaky voice raised:  
\- I told you there's no finding proof. Petunia won't let me to her house anymore. And you could do this just as well. Better than me perhaps, with your... talents and whatnot. Besides, I have other things to take care of. The doctor... – she continued in a hushed way and Elena, listening in with an ear to the door of the kitchen, didn't hear another word.

The strange sequence of visions ended shortly, when she closed her eyes for a few seconds, not sure she would be able to stand anymore with how the ground started wobbling around them due to the rapidly changing pictures in her mind. She grabbed the edge of the mahogany desk strongly to avoid falling before she could be sure she wouldn't black out and the eerie feeling that she was not the one who had planted those thoughts in her brain surcease.

Ultimately, the professor's apathetic voice brought her back to reality:  
\- Monitoring the time is clearly not your forte, Ms. Castel, but you are dismissed now. That is, unless you wish to stay to extract Flobberworm mucus, which would not lessen your detention count, of course – he said silkily.  
\- Yes... no – she shook her head and blinked a few times again.  
Her head felt as if she woke up particularly early or forgot to take her meds, a strange fog still looming all over it for a moment before she fully shook it off.

Elena felt the scrutinising gaze of Snape on her as she left, wondering whether this freaky experience of hers could have somehow been his doing. But there was no way of ascertaining, sadly, as the most obvious one – asking bluntly – she rejected instanatly. She still bore in mind how he snapped at her when she and Draco came to the detention before Pansy and Elena decided to ask whether he did give them homework to force them to reconcile.  
"In your self-absorbance you seem to be misinterpreting a haphazard as an intentional action, Ms. Castel. I can assure you, however, that the curriculum you have to master cares little about childish pettiness. And, mark my words, neither do I." was what he answered, his bony finger stabbing the air around her, just before Pansy entered.  
She did not believe one word of that, but it was not too hard to act like she did, when the teacher's random outbursts of anger did really frighten her a little every time. Now, therefore, she figured it best to avoid provoking one with her intrusive curiosity and was left in the mist of new conjectures about the mysterious Potions Master. "Hermione will be thrilled to hear those" she surmised, while manoeuvring through the labyrinth of corridors underground on her way to the Common Room.

* * *

The typical morning buzz in the Great Hall was just white-noise if one had something interesting to focus on, therefore the mane of black curls with silver strands at the Slytherin table, would rarely raise to reveal the freckled face of the reading girl. She did, however, catch in the corner of her eye that Draco had just entered the Hall and moved slightly to the left in advance, knowing well that he took way too much space for such a skinny boy.

Elena's blond friend, even if he weren't too forgiving, and considering the frequency with which he kept reminding her that she had ruined his notebook, he were not, was self-interested enough to "take her back". Although technically, he was the one who said sorry first. If anything, in the end, the whole fight brought them closer, since she had to help him re-write the contents of his notebook based on her notes, which, in her opinion, greatly improved their quality. On his side, he stopped allying with Pansy, who to her own disgruntlement, finally had to accept the fact that if she wanted to spend time with him, she also would have to tolerate "The Mudblood", or at least, not call her a mudblood to her, or even to Draco's face. Well, the Slytherin loyalty, if such a thing existed, lied in mutual business, as El recently started to realise. And as irritating as this whole ordeal sometimes was, at least now she had someone to bother her while she was trying to read in peace.

\- Why are you always reading?! – Draco exclaimed upon taking his seat next to her at the table, jostling so that his goons had to move their food-filled plates. - And what are you reading? This isn't the tome on winter plants, have you finished that somehow? – he sounded impressed, just as much as she was that he remembered what it was about.

\- Sorry to disappoint, but no, I haven't yet – she turned to him, a piece of toast in her hand, the book still open in the other – I only started this week after all. But I alternate between two books at a time. And this is not a schoolbook for a change. It's LOTR.  
\- It's what? – he asked, putting a couple of slices of bacon on his plate.  
\- The Lord Of The Rings – she over enunciated each capital letter as if that was the part he didn't understand – LOTR.  
\- Yeah, thank you for that explanation, genius, but I've never heard of it. What is it about?

\- You're welcome, dum-dum – she said, closing the book and sliding it towards him – Don't touch it with your greasy fingers, but the cover is pretty. It's about the Fellowship of The Ring. A group of people... well, not all people, there are also other races there, who have wander and fight a lot of dangers to destroy a super powerful magical artefact that the ring is, so that the world doesn't fall. That's basically it – she told him in her most nonchalant tone, brushing the crumbs of her school uniform and from her locks, since they somehow made their way into those as well.  
Her hat, as usual, wasn't on her head but on the bench beside her, since she absolutely hated what it did to her hair, so it was next in the queue to clean.

\- The Fellowship you say? - he feigned indifference so perfectly one could really fall for it.  
She definitely was not one to do so, though. "And he's hooked if I play my cards right." she reckoned, replying in a similar tone:  
\- Yes, and there's magic in it. Also elves, trolls and other creatures. Not always very realistic, though. It's none of my auntie's paintings, if anything, but you know... for a muggle book – she tilted her head.  
\- For a muggle book, huh – his lip pouted, but the steel eyes were still fixed on the illustration on the cover, concentrated on decrypting what looked like runes. – It meddles with magic, you say? If a muggle wrote, then it surely must be bad, then.  
\- I wouldn't know, would I? – she asked a tad defiantly.

No matter how much she learnt, how well she was doing at their subjects or how skilfully she was avoiding showing her surprise at various magical things, she still was a muggle, and all her Slytherin acquaintances would still not let her forget that. They probably never would, as she bitterly presumed. At their very best they would be like Nott, who had just joined them with a short "Hello", looking rather sleepy and with a book of his own, and just ignored it without being too friendly and with the occasional joining in a laugh at her. Or like Draco, of course, who would lately simply resolve to different name-calling, but apart from that was nice to her. In the way of the two of them at least. Therefore she was still downplaying it, and as much as that grovelling repelled her, it was working wonders. "Not that cunning of a House, are you all?" she'd sometimes ask herself.

\- I can lend you it when I finish, you know, so you can educatedly criticize its depictions of magic – she suggested.  
Reading something that was not about Quidditch could definitely benefit him, even though his trivia on that one topic was indeed spectacular. She managed to grab the book and take it away just before he forgot himself and reached for it to read the description on the wings.  
– Oh you're not doing that, not with that... monstrosity in your other hand, I've told you already! – she shouted at him and they burst into laughing.

Her enmity towards his food choices was a constant source of dumb inside-jokes. Her mother, through her aunt's owl, would send her carrots sometimes and his would send him sweets, everyday. She ate oatmeal with the occasional piece of toast for breakfast, he usually opted for a sandwich that simultaneously consisted of fried eggs, bacon, cheese, and jam. It looked and tasted equally disgusting, as she found out when he once bet her a chocolate frog (the one thing she did actually sometimes envy him), that she couldn't eat one. He won of course, and she had to ask Ada to buy her out of the debt at Honeydukes.

\- It's my cousin's and I really don't want it all marked by your fingers. My breakfast is not that... sticky.  
\- Okay, okay – he retreated. – Your cousin's? The one with a pointy nose?  
\- Uhm... yes. Ada does have a pointy nose, if I think about it. But it's not the thing that comes to mind first though.  
\- Dunno, does to mine – he shrugged, finishing his terrifying creation of a sandwich – She has nice hair though – he added, probably hoping not to sound mean with his last remark.  
He'd do that every now and then, and she considered it a real progress. The only of her other friends he'd never stop cavilling at was probably Harry, who she just now caught him looking at. She braced herself for the unavoidable litany of insults about the brown-skinned boy ust in time.  
\- Pottah has nobody – "You have no idea what it's like, do you?" she did not retort - so it's obvious he'll be staying at the castle for Christmas, but one would think that at least the Weasley had a home to come back to, be that a hole in the ground. But neither of them are, so I hear – he said for an explanation, catching her gaze.  
He paid an awful lot of attention to them as for someone who swore to hate them guts, much more of it than she did despite her frequent study-sessions with Hermione.

\- Anyways – he continued, now with a napkin in his hands. – Guess I could skim through that book, when I have the time.  
If she hadn't earlier, the mention of the Ravenclaw, who he had met briefly a few times, but mainly – knew the genealogy on her father's side, as Elena supposed, was what tipped the scale. Would be nice to discuss it with someone, since Adalie had her boyfriend for that, Felicia wasn't interested and Hermione had "no time for such idle activities just before the incoming tests", as if she wouldn't have aced them without revising the material for the hundredth time.  
\- I'll lend you it for Christmas break then – she told Draco and they both started to gather their things to leave for class.


	9. The grave in Godrick's Hollow

**TW: Descriptions of physical suffering.**

What actually prompted Severus to finally surrender to his own curiosity and check the contents of the student's head for what he wished to ascertain about, was, of course, the damned banshee of a recurring dream earlier that day. The skill of controlling one's mind had the downside of said mind taking its revenge whenever it could. He got woken up at 4 in the morning again and gave up on trying to sleep since. If that did show in the amount of points he had taken from the Weasleys for merely speaking in a suspicious manner, then maybe he should have been grateful for the nightmare. The Slytherin House had just been overtaken by Gryffindor in the House Cup and one of his life's few pleasures was "His" House winning it for all those years, which, he had an unpleasant feeling, was about to change with the arrival of Potter, Albus' little pet. Somehow, a whole lot of things came down to Potter lately, and Severus could not have been more disgruntled by that.

"So they are indeed related." he thought as he dismissed the Castel girl from his office. The last proof he needed to confirm his suspicions finally had been revealed to him. He found the knowledge that he wasn't, yet, completely off his rocker, not as reassuring as he had hoped it to be, but the fact that he had just possibly bitten at another riddle concerning Dumbledore was quite the consolation. He now had another proof that Albus' decision to keep Potter where he did was a deliberate and not quite indispensable one, even if he had concealed that very well.

"Truly, don't I have better things to do than wondering about the fate of the Potter-boy?" he scolded himself with disgust a moment later. But truth was, it was an intriguing conundrum, and he had never in his life refused to try to solve one when he came upon it. Obviously, he'd never have stooped low enough to ask, but one could hear a lot, if they knew how to listen, and he had heard bits and pieces about Albus' reasoning behind leaving the kid on Petunia's threshold. By that time he had already seen the child, though in a rather horrid scenery, still vivid in his mind, and he had needed that one look for all his interest in the wellbeing of it to falter, so he could not have cared less whether it was given to lions to eat. Or hyenas, in this very case, because that's what he had remembered Petunia to resemble from childhood. But his natural curiosity won and it didn't rest until he found out that Albus' justification was the blood-bound charm.

Of course, Dumbledore himself had not been made aware that he had learnt that, therefore he had not a way of confirming it. Until lately, when the muggleborn that clearly wanted to be as famous as Potter, yet somehow he could not bring himself to feel the same chasm of hate towards her that he did towards the boy, stumbled, quite literally, into the school of Hogwarts. He had stopped himself from searching her mind before, but he had The Dream again, and that was the last straw that pushed him to check once and for all. Because of all that he succumbed to the curiosity, the nosiness. Now he had seen what he wanted and oh, he was absolutely confident that the photo the girl's grandma was showing her in one of the memory had the unmistakable smile of Lily brightening it. From that he understood that there were, in fact alternatives, to leaving the Potter's boy with Lily's shrew of a sister. That rather blunt accusation combined with the confirmation that he had not been imagining the resemblance neither in that brat Castel, nor in Aneira and her sister, was what let him sleep dreamless that night, once he had checked 5th years unimpressive quiz results on the Draught of Peace.

* * *

The winter break approached faster than anyone expected it to. One day Elena was in the Great Hall, bickering with Draco over-who-would-remember-what, in another back in the train on her way home. Draco did not take the express, he was taken from the school by his father's servant, a funny-looking creature with huge eyes and dressed in a draped sheet. She told it that its outfit looked like an ancient Roman aristocrat's one and the creature, a house elf, as she found out later, cried, for some reason. It then took Draco out of the school and apparated, which meant the same as "teleported" from what she got, to his home. Elena wondered why would anyone let a kid off without a proper guardian, but apparently that was not a problem here. She wasn't yet quite used to the safety measures, or lack of thereof, applied at Hogwarts; her primary definitely hadn't been half this lenient. The educator of her class in the muggle school would never let a child leave with whoever, without even reading the letter from their parents thoroughly, but well, Snape definitely wasn't anyway like her, so he of course did just that.

As for the rest of the students, some were staying in the Castle for the break, others, like Elena, were coming home by means of the Hogwarts Express. Adalie was with her boyfriend and they were nauseatingly sweet, so she decided it was better to share a compartment with Hermione, Susan and Tracey. All but the last girl, were in different Houses than her. They did get along somehow though, at least enough not to have a duel happening during the journey. It seemed obvious, however, that everyone was now solely focused on what was awaiting them at homes, on the presents, the food and the celebrations, and of course, on their parents who, especially in Slytherin House, nobody admitted they missed, but they all obviously did.

For the first two days at home, Elena was treated like a princess. Though, to be completely frank, it was the type of princess that insists on helping her dad in the garage, since he somehow had not gotten to changing the tyres to the winter ones before her arrival. However, before she knew it, she was out and about running errands with her aunt or mother.

One of those errands was a visit to the graves of deceased family members' graves, a tradition that her aunt definitely brought somewhere from abroad, because El didn't remember doing that when she was away.

The sky was almost clear with small clouds here and there, but they were fine enough not to obscure even the faint winter sun. The snow covering the graves glistened in the light and Elena watched attentively as aunt Aneira cleared the surface of the stone before them with a flick of her wand, revealing the grey marble with black lettering. There were only the two of them here, Elena's mother being too busy trying to reconcile always being available for her patients with Christmas preparations and Adalie at Michael's, who she had been forbidden to spend the Holidays themselves with, so she was using the last chance – of the Christmas Eve today. Elena envied both of them, even though she had chosen to go willingly. However, she had not foreseen it would be this cold here. Another blow of freezing wind swept through the empty cemetery, stirring up fountains of snow. She stuck her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat, wishing she could use a warming charm on herself, since asking her aunt wasn't a possibility, as El's mother, who had explicitly told her not to take the lighter coat, would no doubt be informed about that. "Well, if I do get a cold it'll be those stupid rules' about underage magic fault." she judged. Wondering how long it would take them here, she looked away from the small, grey building of a Chapel, hidden behind the black silhouette of a barren tree and back onto her aunt. Aneira was now leaning over the marble, holding the tail of her navy coat so that it didn't brush against the still wet marble.

Before Elena could even ask what she was bending for, Aneira's head emerged from behind the stone, as she turned to her, holding something in her hand.  
\- Well, this is odd – she stated, examining the object in her hand. – It's muggle. Who on Earth could have put that here? Barely anyone cares but me and Carwy, too many bad memories for those friends who've survived, I guess – she thought out loud, mumbling under her breath, but Elena's ears were focused on her speech – On the other hand, it's been a decade. So maybe that's why... Well, never mind. If you'd be so kind El and go throw it away – auntie asked her, handing her the wreath, or what was left of it anyways.

\- No problem – her breath turned into white mist immediately.

Elena took the circular object, which turned out to be wreath, from her aunt, feeling the wet snow seep through the wool of her mittens and envisioning her mother's concern when she'd see the frost-bitten skin of her already far too cold hands. She then took off towards the huge garbage container standing by the second entrance to the cemetery and as she went, she saw a card slipping out of the bundle she was carrying. She stopped to grab it from the snowdrift it fell onto, having figured that her fingers couldn't get any more numb. "Maybe this will tell auntie who left it." she supposed. But the note turned out to be rather useless. There was no name, nothing that could identify the author. The small white card, made of paper, not parchment, like El had already gotten used to such things being, was empty except for one word "Always" written in cursive. Elena had an obscure feeling she couldn't quite explain, a hunch with no logical justification, that, whoever brought the wreath had not intended anyone to have found the note, since if it hadn't been for her shaking the poor frozen lilies on her way out of boredom, it would have remained hidden from plain sight between those of their petals that were still intact. She resolved to tell her aunt what she had found, because there was still a chance that would be a clue for her, but she threw away the note along with the flowers.

On their way back, in the midst of Aneira's complaining about how bad a job did the British enchanter she went to in making the steering wheel stabilise in flight and how she could not understand why she had to renew her permit to have the car at all every three months now, there was not a single pause for Elena to say something about her findings. Instead of hearing her aunts' hypothesis about the possible origin of the card and the wrench, she only kept hearing about the car she loved so much. Well, at least Elena finally found out why did nobody else she knew have one of those – it seemed that the laws considering enchanting "muggle-made objects" differed between the isles and the continent greatly. Aneira had hers registered in somewhere north, judging by the name of the city she mentioned.

Then, as they were lowering onto an empty street so as to make the car visible again when they reached London, he aunt, rather randomly, asked Elena about her classmate – Harry. She seemed a little disappointed that Elena did not like him that much. Then, for a while she quietened and drove the muggle-streets silently, looking as if she was very absorbed with her own thoughts.

* * *

May 1982

The professor received the letter from a particularly ruffle-feathered owl over two weeks ago, yet it took him some time before he was able to find a while to pay Ms. Hughes a visit.  
When he finally did, on a fine spring morning, he apparated to the coordinates written in cursive on the violet stationery, landing on the narrow path paved with pebbles and surrounded by wild rose bushes. Their leaves were still covered in water droplets from the sprinkle from earlier. The house, or rather – the caravan, in front of him was not an impressive sight. Small, with flashy red walls and a huge irregular shape of a drum kit under a black leather cover standing under one of the two windows. In the other one he noticed movement of the white shades, indubitably caused by his arrival.

Not a minute had passed before the door opened with a crackle to show a tall woman with waves of auburn hair interspersed with silver strands streaming down her bare arms, revealed by the scanty white blouse she was wearing along with a flowing skirt with a flowery motif. If he didn't know better, he would not only identify her as a muggle, but also start wondering how on earth did he suddenly transport into the 60s. He was not a big follower of non-magical fashion, although clothing was indeed amongst his numerous interests, as one could deduce from his purple cloak with golden filigree, but only a completely limited pureblood supremacist would not be able to link the presentation of the woman to the sub-culture of hippies. Her bare feet appeared from under the fabric when she took a step outside to invite him with a gesture.

\- Professor Dumbledore! – she exclaimed joyfully – Welcome! Please come in.

From between her legs a child suddenly emerged, her blue eyes looking at the guest intently, an expression of curiosity painted over her angelic freckled face with blonde hairs serving as its frame. For a moment she looked like she was wearing a veil, made of her mother's skirt, over her locks. In a second, however, she dashed onto the grass, her stained blue dress fluttering with the movement.

\- Adalie! – the woman called out, bending down in a futile try to stop her.  
It was too late, as the kid had already run into him and in a second got tangled up in his robes.  
\- I'm so sorry, professor – Aneira started apologising.

\- Oh, it's nothing, my dear. You know how I cherish the company of the young ones – he said, smiling at the girl – Do you want a sherbet lemon perhaps, little angel?

\- You don't have to, really, professor! – her freckled cheeks were covered with a blush of embarrassment as she smiled at him, gladly - But thank you, and yes, she may have one, I think. Can I invite you in?

\- Or maybe we could sit outside here? – he suggested, sure that his hostess would be relieved not to have to excuse herself for the mess that undoubtedly reigned inside - The weather is so pleasant and I see you have a garden table behind the house...

\- Yeah, an excellent idea – she agreed eagerly - I'll be back with the tea then. Do you mind if I leave you with her for a second, professor?  
The tone revealed that she had been taking care of the kid from the early hours of the morning, possibly, and so she wasn't able to hide the hope that even five minutes without the responsibility awoke in her.

\- Of course I don't, Ane, it's my pleasure – he laughed, taking a sit on the white chair and putting the kid on his lap.

When she came back, holding two mismatched cups in one hand along with some kind of cloth and the teapot in the other, Adalie had already ate three sherbet lemons and was playing with the strangers' long beard. The red-haired woman wiped the table, put the ware on it and grabbed a chair for herself, positioning it so that she was straight in front of him. She poured the earl grey and only then began to speak:  
\- So, as I mentioned in the letter and as you must have noted yourself, I couldn't make it to the funeral. I'm terribly sorry for leaving the rest of the Order alone in their grieving, you can pass to them my sincere apologies, as we have lost contact with most I'm afraid – her voice started trembling – I just couldn't bear it no more... And the pills seemed like a reasonable option, though I knew they never are – she stopped to dry her cheek with the dirty cloth she was crumpling in her hand the whole time - I wanted to tell you that face to face, professor.

He nodded, listening to her with full concentration and a serious expression on his face.  
\- But the real reason I wanted you to come here is the fate of the Potters' boy.  
He let his eyes only momentarily glisten with coldness before they took back their natural warm glow. Seeing, that she made a pause and was waiting for his reaction, he asked, to encourage her to continue:  
\- Yes, Harry, "the boy who lived" as they say. What about him?

\- Well, I've heard you gave him to Petunia. She won't speak to me, of course, since I am an outcast alright, but Carwy told me. And she too, may I have you know, is disappointed, not to say enraged with your decision, professor. Rightfully so! And I know I haven't been exactly keeping the perfect score as a mother – she took a deep breath and continued with her monologue – But even I am no worse mum than she is. And, if I can say so myself, I'm handling my parental responsibilities rather well at the moment.

Exactly upon her having uttered those words, as if on command, the girl, who had before been playing on their right under a birch tree, but went unnoticed for the last few minutes, run up to her mother, showing her a yellowish shape held in her small fingers covered with mud. Aneira stopped speaking and winced, realising that the thing Ada was holding appeared to be a dead frog. Dumbledore hid his smile behind the silver hairs of his beard and watched the scene unfold before his eyes with amusement.

\- Honey, what did you do? – motherly worry that did not quite suit her filled Aneira's question.  
\- I found it under the byrch, in a poodle, mommy. It's a froggie – explained the little girl, smiling cheerfully.  
\- Oh yes, it's a frog alright. Was it moving before? Or was like that when you found it, Adalie? – she now furrowed her brow a little more.  
\- Yes, mommy. It wosn't moving at all.  
\- Then that's a dead froggie honey, you should never touch those, because they can be contaminated with something and make you ill – she lectured her, as she excused herself and left to assist her daughter in washing her hands.

It would, perhaps, be surprising for a witch not to use a spell of some sort to deal with the matter in a much more efficient manner, and he, perhaps, would have offered his own help, if he hadn't known why she would reject such an advice brusquely.

When she came back, this time having equipped the kid with a few toys, so she wouldn't feel the need to find them in nature, Dumbledore was finishing his tea, so she poured him some more and continued:  
\- As I said, I'm doing alright. Apsel is helping every now and then, I went to therapy and have been clean for three months, and Ada is a happy little girl, as you can see... Well, what I'm trying to say is that I could raise the boy. We're family, not that distant even and, I'm planning to stay in Britain for some time, so it's not like he'll have to learn German or something – she laughed, but then noticed her interlocutor wasn't as joyful, eyeing her with an atypical sternness that he found no longer necessary to hide – I'm planning to apply for a job in a publishing house as an illustrator and then maybe I'll come back to doing magic too. And if I do, then he would have a start in the wizarding world. Not an easy one perhaps, but one nevertheless.

"You, out of all people, the rebellious girl who defied one rule after another and who we with the Fillius had to personally protect so that you would not be expelled or face the other consequences of your mistakes, feel that you're cut to the task?" he thought with irony, but out loud he said, ensuring to sound as respectful as possible:  
\- I simply would rather he was not raised within the magical community, being famous before he can even speak surely won't do him any good.

She was prepared for that argument and retorted quickly:  
\- Well, that's fair. Besides maybe it's right that it shouldn't be me. But what about my sister then? She's a muggle, as isolated as one can be without spurting hate like Petunia. And, moreover, she's a perfectly good mother – "who hadn't had a knock-up in her fifth year of school, just after moving to a new country" she didn't add, as it was common knowledge for the two of them.

\- I am not questioning that. And I am sure she would have made a great stepmother to Harry. I even have watched the household like you had suggested in the letter, dear Ane...  
\- And? – she interrupted impatiently, seeing that hesitating about what to say.  
\- I believe that she has enough on her plate already. Undoubtedly, burdening her with another child would do much good to anyone involved.

What he did not mention was, however, that he also observed that her poor kid had a set of skills children usually did not possess. She could, for example, make needles of syringes turn remarkably pliable whenever her mother tried to administer an injection. The woman, Carwen, as he knew, quickly gave up on it, possibly having come to some sort of a simple conclusion about the heat in the room affecting them, and since then she was given medicine to drink instead. Well, Albus couldn't completely exclude the possibility that she had conjectured what was happening, having been brought up around a young witch herself, after all, but if she did, she was showing no signs of having noticed that her child is even more peculiar than the illness alone made her. The little girl also had a way of telling when her parents were planning on taking her to the hospital and, since she didn't seem to like it there, even at the tender age of two, it always rained when they were on their way there. That could, obviously, be a simple occurrence, given the fact the Castels lived in London, but professor Dumbledore had a strong feeling that it was not one.

Now, however, he trusted that Aneira's mind, traumatised on the subject of magic, wouldn't venture that way and was assured in that belief the very next second:  
\- She's not alone, though. Well, I'm not either, but you know what I mean, professor. And her girl is just an anaemic with breathing problems, it's not like she has cancer. I'm sure Carwy would manage just fine with two, I had even asked her about it and she said she could do it.

Her tone was assured and convincing, although not enough to work on the old man, apparently. Dumbledore only let her deduce that from his unyielding gaze, as his thin lips hidden behind the white beard faked the usual kind, grandfatherly smile and, fortunately, she wasn't able to hear his thoughts, although those would definitely clarify a lot of things for her.

"It's not even that you're a muggle-born junkie artist, who refuses to adhere to societal norms of our world, attracting as much attention as the scar on his head in your jeans and tops." Albus commented in his mind. He didn't find that much fault in it, frankly, although the fame in the wizarding world, amplified by the gossip surrounding Aneira herself, would definitely not make the kid any less aware of just how loved he was by their whole society.  
Besides, even the mere fact that he would live in a magic-associated, if not –practising, house, unfortunately, brought the threat of him growing up into a self-absorbed, egoistic brat, fully aware of his power and charm. And one could only presume how that would end. Albus, when envisioning such a future for Harry, a future of a child that was self-assured and universally admired, immediately thought of Riddle.

"But furthermore" he thought to himself "I need the boy to respect me, if we are to stand a chance against Voldemort, if, or rather – when, he comes back. And you, my dear Ane, defied me. Your refusal to follow my orders might have cost us lives, and I know you are aware of it now, but that's a little too late, my dear. Therefore is it really so surprising that I don't want the boy anywhere near you? It might even have been yourself who cost him his parents."

He could say none of it, preferring to keep her in the dark on just how much an unforgivable offence she had committed last autumn, when, despite his command she spared a wizard he knew should not have been let go. Of course, a good soul like him would never give out an order of that severity if he had not been convinced that the man at the receiving end was guilty, yet she had dared to have doubts about it, presenting her case later with arguments about the Imperiatus Curse. She was, consequently, one of the witnesses in that man's upcoming trial, which might have been what incited her to reinstate her contact with the Order, actually. Now, however, she was acting as if she herself had forgotten about those events and her deed, focusing solely on the parenting-related flaws of hers.

Yet, amongst the vices of the young ex-witch simplicity wasn't one, and if he had not given her any other reason, she would have, sooner or later, discovered the real one. That would very much go against both his wishes and plans, which was why he finally resorted to telling her a part of the truth.

When he spoke, having emptied another teacup, his voice was authoritative, though serene and pleasant as ever:  
\- My dear Aneira, as much as I do value your character and the generousness of your offer, I am afraid that I will be forced to push back on it nevertheless. Well... there is a matter of knowledge, which I would have preferred to keep amongst as little people as possible and therefore I tried to refrain from sharing it with you. Forgive an old man – he said, placing a placating hand on hers, which was lying on the table, the rumpled cloth again in her grasp.

He then took a deep breath and continued, intentionally creating an atmosphere of utmost secrecy with his, now quieter, voice:  
\- However you, of course, are family, on all levels one can require in this situation, therefore I shall treat you as one – he saw her shifting in her chair nervously, her eyes fixed on him as he slowly curled a strand of his beard – See, I have every good reason to suspect that the danger looming over Harry has not passed, it has solely hidden, only to return when it will be least expected. Therefore, I have taken measures to ensure his safety, ancient enchantments of blood-bounds that I am sure you are familiar with.

At this point of his speech, the truth began blending with the lie, but, rest assured, she was completely unaware of and, as for now, had no way of checking it against the numerous magical books in runes, which he knew she could read. If the need ever arose in the future, he could cast a simple memory charm to modify that single sentence in her mind and nobody but him would ever know.

\- Sadly, none of those had considered any family further than the closest ones. Recasting them, which even a person as curious as yourself might not be aware of, is a process that requires voluntary agreement of the sides involved. Which, I am afraid, might be unattainable, given you cousin's dislike for magic of any kind.

\- And for me – she clearly couldn't help interjecting and when she then slouched in her chair like a school kid, having noticed that she interrupted him, Albus smiled at her forbearingly.

\- And for yourself, undeservedly – a well placed compliment could do wonders on one's attention to detail, he had figured. - Therefore, I see no other option but to continue on the path I have chosen – at least here he was completely sincere – In the future, if such a need arises, I will be sure to contact with you, Ane.

Since that met with her understanding and even gratefulness for "entrusting her with this information", he considered the conversation finished and got up from his chair. After shaking his hostess' hand goodbye and giving the curious blonde cherub of her daughter another sweet, he left, apparating back to the boundary of His School.

* * *

December 1991

Brightness. Blinding, overpowering, horrifying type of nothingness that promised something to appear out of it; very unlike its twin sister darkness, that could only absorb, not breed, and thus was more reassuring to him.

As predicted, in a few seconds the nothingness before him started taking shape, this time - that of a wide open space, with only the bluish-grey ceiling of clouds confining it from above. The wind was howling around, blowing up a furry of white. The snow kept hitting him in the face, turning it numb in the cold. From behind the snowflakes the ledger stone was barely visible, but he knew it too well not to distinguish its familiar shape as ingrained in his mind. The freezing weather was biting his skin fiercely and it took him a while to realise that it was bare, his black robe or cloak nowhere to be seen.

"Naked in the frostiness. Standing before that particular grave, which I'm not even sure resembles the real thing, anymore. No doubt another dream." he realised, but the knowledge alone unfortunately could do little to change the scenario. Recognising it as one of the recurring visions, the "bleeding-out in a graveyard against the forces of nature" as he did, was not helpful either. He had plenty of time to read muggle books on controlling one's dreams in the last decade, though it seemed that this field of psychology was just as underdeveloped as Occlumency and Legillimency were in the wizarding world. Therefore, he was still stuck helpless before the power of his own brain, torturing him with everything he so desperately wanted to repress. The potions didn't always help either, but at least they alleviated the power of his nightmares enough that even on a potionless night he'd rarely wake up on the floor, having thrown himself off the bed in a futile try to fight whatever hallucination his mind created. Sadly, overdosing had worse effects than not using them at all, so he had learnt to be careful. But gods, if any of those existed, would he sell his soul for complete peace.

\- You've already done that a long time ago. And no one wishes to repurchase it, believe me – a disembodied, metallic voice echoed in the empty graveyard.

His subconscious obviously possessed the ability to always chose exactly the voice of reason that he'd resent the most. It had lost most of its kinship to a human one a long time ago, sounding more like steel clanging against stone, but it still somehow bore resemblance to both Riddle's constrained tone and his own father's barks as he remembered them from childhood. Other times it would be less menacing, aggravatingly blithe, interspersed with laughter of Black and Potter. Truly the hybrid any muggle psychologist would be delighted to scrutinize.

No other tombs except for the one that mattered were visible to him. He suspected that there could be no trace of them at all. Paroxysms of cold-induced cramps started to twist his muscles and he fought not to fall down onto the snow. In the end they won, of course, and struck him down. He was always destined to lose against them and there was no fixing that, but he never just passively accepted that fate, he always struggled against it with all his might before failing, which felt oddly similar to what life, as he was used to, meant.

First he fell on his knees, feeling the uneven ground underneath the duvet of snow in his bony kneecaps. Then, the wind pushed him from behind, his spine paralyzed by the coldness it brought and in the last moment before his face would hit the ground, he managed to force his hands to move, stabilising himself against his fists, basically crawling on the ground. Crawling from the voice that now returned and spoke from behind him as he tried to get as far away from it as possible, unable to block the sound otherwise, since if he even were able to stretch his knuckles back again, he knew it would be even louder inside his head if he dared to try to cover his ears. The clanging resonated through him, sending painful shivers down his spine as it kept repeating monotonously, yet powerfully, in the quiet disturbed only by the wind:  
\- Guilty. Guilty. Guilty – it didn't need to say anything more to torment him.  
As he attempted to drag himself towards the grave, which seemed to be the only hope of any cover against the forces surrounding him, the scars on his body started bleeding. He noticed that from the trail his left hand was leaving on the snow and took it with something akin to relief, since it meant that the end was coming soon.

One by one, the lines on his pale skin started taking the colour of mauve, then carmine, and finally tears of blood started emerging from them, forming almost elegant lines of droplets that were then promptly rolling down to sink into the whiteness around him, creating atrocious masterpieces of abstract art underneath his body, still jolted by the convulsions. Pain rippled through him, alleviated only slightly by the numbness of his limbs. The lines on his ribs and stomach covered in red blossom and he finally stopped being able to move any further, having only almost reached his the tomb. He was close enough that he could theoretically extend his hand and touch it, grasp onto it as the agony took him, but he wasn't able to. Therefore he fell onto the snow completely, now cowering in a foetal position, a longing look in his ache-filled eyes bearing into the unachievable destination. The crimson sweep of snow around him grew as did his numbness until death took him and he woke up in the comforting darkness of his chamber.

Severus' breath was still shallow, strained by the imagined pain. His hand automatically travelled to the marked part of his arm, stroking the sleeve underneath which the branding was hidden. He shot a glance at the clock. It was almost five. "Well, if I drug myself with the Draught now, I will resemble an Inferi by the time of breakfast. And I doubt any of the staff is just so jolly to omit that detail." he discerned. Irritation filled him at the thought about the traditional meeting that was awaiting before he'd hopefully be able to leave the Castle for at least a half of the day.

This, lately, the permanent lack of sleep, had become far too much of a practice for him. It was the toll all the Occlumency combined with all the trauma, was taking whenever times got the least bit harder, and, with somebody on school grounds possibly working for the not-quite-deceased Dark Lord, they very much had. To make matters worse, the accursed Potter-boy was, of course, staying during the break, since he had no proper house to return to, therefore his promise to keep him safe still bound him. Severus wasn't sure which of the two was worse to keep an eye on – the stuttering coward who he suspected of helping the Lord, or the awfully lively and alive resemblance of the man he never forgave. Either way, he knew he only woke up from one purgatory to another. "At least in this one I am able to shut down what I don't want to see ever again." he noted, but that reflection came off much more sour than he hoped it to.

\- Merry Fucking Christmas – he whispered to himself, getting up from the bed.


End file.
